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What a difference a sunny day makes…

sunny day

So the sun seems to have made a huge appearance this week, and lordy loo, how the people, they do change!

This afternoon, as I walked down the street with two bottles of Corona that had been kindly opened by the man in the off licence after I toyed with buying a can opener for a good 10 minutes and I bopped along listening to The Saturdays – such shame, but their song ‘What About Us’ was made for walking in the sun (see previous articles where I express my joy about walking songs) – I felt such an air of relief among us all. There we all go, wandering in the heat, not a coat or woolly scarf in sight.

As I smile at everyone whilst my bottles clink together and I suck on a rapidly melting Calippo, I cast my mind back to a couple of weeks ago when it was somewhat rainier and colder and glovier and scarfier and remember the misery – oh the misery! – on the faces of those stompy, splashy people, glum like the grey clouds above them. Everyone accessorised their wool with frowns and I’ll bet that nobody over the age of 14 was listening to The Saturdays (alright, I still was).

As I sit writing this in the park, two small children are using me as a goal post in a game that can only be described as “person who hits the typing girl the most times wins”. Considering that their chatty mothers are sat on a nearby bench and not stopping their children from throwing an actually quite heavy football at the stranger drinking beer at the park, I’d say that my reaction has been relatively pleasant. I’ve giggled and pretty much allowed them to continue. If it had been cold, or rainy, I’d have dropkicked at least one of them.

You see, in those cold, blustery weeks, people just didn’t care about each other, it was all grunts and shoves and moody shivers. But that’s all changed now that the sun’s got his hat on, it’s like the hot rays have injected a bit of happiness in to everyone and I, for one, am pretty damn pleased about it.

I’ve lost count of the number of “beer garden after work, anyone?” posts and statuses that I’ve seen this week, and the alarming amount of shirtless men who rip their tops off at the first sign of sunlight, not to mention the teeny weeny shorts and flip-flop combos that many gals have slipped into in the office toilets come 5pm. Yes, the sun changes us.

We’re all familiar with the “Londoners are moody, horrible people” façade that so many have (somewhat correctly) thrust upon us Southeners, but who can blame us?

When 300-odd days out of the year we’re being herded onto packed out tube carriages like a giant transportable tin of sardines, all desperately trying to slide off suddenly unnecessary coats and scarves with the one sweaty hand that isn’t being sat on by a fat guy in a suit after running into the station from the blustery, rainy snow.

After 45 weeks of abandoning all parks and commons in favour of living rooms and garden-less pubs. From 9 months of wanting to curl up into a ball of coldness in front of a fire whilst stuffing our faces with pie and chips, praying that the extra layer of fat that winter made us work on will keep us slightly snugger in the night.

But give us a bit of sunlight and BOOM! Let’s walk to work! Let’s grab a portable BBQ, a bucket of beers and head to the park! Let’s strip down to skirts and crop tops and eat salads for the rest of our lives! Let’s be happy forever!

Well, yes, the sun is a beautiful thing, turning us things into beautiful people, all happy to smile at one another, be friendly, say hello, and allow children to kick things at you in the park. Who’d have thought that a tiny bit of sun could change us so much? So let’s bring in the maxi dresses, shorts and flip flops and say goodbye to the Ugg boots, the jumpers and the hats. Throw them into a box and hide them away, but remember to cherish this sunlight because I give it 2 weeks until we’re putting on long sleeves and clutching umbrellas.

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