As relentless wind and rain continues to sweep through the country, ruining a second consecutive summer, incidences of pissing and moaning are at an unprecedented high.
Over 50 millimetres of bile and spittle fell in the West Country in less than 24 hours over the bank holiday weekend, as barbeques were cancelled and summer fetes washed out, while in Scotland, an entire month's worth of tears was spilt in one day, after little Jimmy McSporran's birthday party was forced indoors.
80% of Londoners reported seething anger and sexual frustration as parks and commons lay almost empty, bereft of the lithe, semi-naked bodies traditionally found frolicking, giggling and playing Frisbee. This was a far cry from the golden summer of 2005 when loin temperatures sizzled, and more than half the capital got their collective rocks off in a colossal, cider-fuelled orgy of sun-drenched fun with various nubile Aussie back-packers.
Gusts of up to 50 miles per hour were documented across Britain as heavy sighs swirled around weather-beaten cricket pitches and sodden wedding receptions - the highest speeds recorded since the infamous freak tutting storm of 1947.
The only group to escape this national whinge-fest have been umbrella manufacturers and TV weather forecasters who have seen ratings boom and sex-appeal sky-rocket as people grow increasingly desperate to find a glimmer of sunshine.
"It's great," said Peter Cockroft smugly. "I've had loads of tail this summer. Birds keep coming up to me at parties asking for advice on when they can expect to break out their new bikinis. I simply say: 'how about later tonight - my bedroom?' Works like a charm."
It's not all good news for the men from the Met Office, however. Many frustrated beachgoers have been taking the opportunity to kick the shit out of Michael Fish - just "for old times' sake".