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The concept of a London summer is a collective fiction we maintain to appear sane on the world stage. It is not a season but a speculative bubble of optimism that bursts by mid-July. We speak of it in hushed, hopeful tones from around April: "Perhaps this year will be a proper one." This involves investing in cheap garden furniture that will never fully dry out and purchasing barbecue charcoal with the tragic faith of a lottery ticket buyer. The "summer" itself typically manifests as one statistically anomalous week where the temperature dares to hit 28, the city becomes a sweaty, irritable piazza, and the rail tracks buckle, proving the infrastructure, like the populace, was built for drizzle and stoicism, not this exotic, foreign concept of "sun." See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
posted by London Smartphonion Miércoles, 21 Enero 2026 21:15 Comment Link