Not posted for a couple of days, what with the weather conspiring against me by shining gloriously all weekend.
Everyone was out and about, and you could tell that everyone had collectively decided that summer had officially started; the summer clothes on show and everyone was smiling.
It may be just a case of me getting old, but I used to be able to tell when Summer was unofficially declared: everybody and their mother would break out with the shades and designer sunglasses to pose about in. However it is now the case that so many people wear shades all year round irrespective of the seasons, the weather, or even if they are sitting indoors at night with the lights off.
The anthropological reason behind this phenomenon could be explained away in two conflicting ways: 1) Further evidence of the alienated class-divided commodity driven - To consume is To Be - style society we all now live in, where it is no longer the case that it is enough to employ the thousand yard stare* in urban life to shut out the unwanted outside world when walking down the street; or 2) Alternatively, we have all become a bunch of posey bastards. The jury is still out on the matter.**
Well, employing my own thousand yard stare ,whilst waking down the street on Saturday, I got to thinking what could now be considered as the first unofficial sign of summer? And then it struck me: the various tanning shops with the offers of ninety second instant tan for only fifteen quid, which up to now when the sun wasn't shining always seem more devoid of human life than a cross between the Marie Celeste and one of our Autumn Delegate Meetings now seemed to be bustling with life, and looked busier than a queue for an NHS dentist. Lets be honest there is only so much of suntan socialist Tommy Sheridan to go around in the winter months for all the tanning shops out there to get his business, but they all now seemed to be doing a roaring trade. Aye go figure - the sun is suddenly absolutely scorching and everyone and their mother now steams into the tanning shops to get a fake tan so they can put on their summer gear of shorts, sleeveless t shirts and crop tops, so that they can get a real tan without showing themselves up with by exposing their pale untanned bits hitherto covered up for the last seven months. Aye, the world is a madhouse at times but you've got to love it. ;-)
Of course in the parallel universe of the Small Party of Good Boys, summer is unofficially declared when the more sedate middle aged members shed the Val Doonican style cardigans that they usually wear over their Pringle jumpers in the colder seasons; the fan at Head Office is switched on to cool down the photocopier at Head Office***, and the annual email is received from Birmingham Branch panicking 'cos the numbers signing up for our Summer School are down on last year and will people quickly book their tickets.
In typical West of Scotland born and bred fashion, I myself enjoy the start of summer for about ten minutes and then start panicking that my usual skin tones will suddenly transform from milk bottle white to lobster red in the space of twenty minutes and resolve to quickly shuffle back indoors away from the sun - also realising that whilst I can get away with wearing the seventies retro Barcelona football top, I can't get with the retro seventies lack of haircut**** in this sort of heat - next stop the barbers.
*Thousand Yard Stare A popular expression for that 'stare into the distance, avoiding eye contact at all costs in case of reaction from other people, adverse or otherwise' look that your average city dweller will employ when either walking down the street or whilst sitting on public transport. Thought by some commentators (i.e Me) to have been replaced in the 21st century by the mobile phone being clamped to one's ear - whether it is switched on or not - when walking down the street. This gives out the 'stay away! - don't interact with me as I am busy' vibe, whilst still fostering the illusion that your are interacting with another member of the human race. Also the name for a crap eighties indie band.
** On the matter of Nicky Campbell, the jury returned from careful considered deliberation twenty years ago and passed the unanimous verdict that the bloke is a 24 carat wanker - no allowance for appeal against the verdict.
*** The photocopier of course being the second hardest working part of the WSM organisation after the kettle in the Head Office kitchen.
**** Word to the wise: Next time Cosmo' tells you that the seventies style feather cut haircut is coming back into fashion - don't believe it.
