Local man Martin Shuttlecock woke up this morning in an optimistic mood because he had the day off work and because it's summer!
While long suffering wife Anne prattled on relentlessly over the phone to some equally relentless prattler, Shuttlecock glanced out of the window, and to his absolute horror discovered that it didn't look remotely like summer in his neighbourhood. (Which is watched. By watchers. Whoever they are.)
Grey skies prevailed, much to Shuttlecock's dismay, which was compounded when the TV weathergirl forecast snow on high ground in Scotland.
For a brief moment, Shuttlecock relaxed. Scotland is a long way from the Shuttlecock residence, and in any case, the Scots deserved snow in summer for being a bunch of miserable Scotland obssessed bastards.
But worse was to come.
As long suffering Anne applied the warpaint prior to the 2-10 shift at work, a drumbeat on the Shuttlecock windowpanes announced with absolute and sickening certainty that it was pissing down outside.
"Is it raining?" Anne Shuttlecock asked.
"Fucking throwing it down," Martin announced in a dull monotone, bitterly disappointed that he would, after all, be unable to do all the things he'd promised himself he'd do on such a fine summer day.
Like extricate his bike from the garden shed and go for a bike ride.
"Are you cold, or is it me?" Anne asked, looking like a half made-up phantom of the opera.
"I'll turn the heating up," Shuttlecock said resignedly.
HERE COMES THE SUMMER!
A Met Office Official was quick to reassure Martin Shuttlecock that summer really has arrived, and stated confidently that Shuttlecock would be sweating his bollocks off and complaining about the bloody flies in a few days.
More as we get it.
