Summer. We’ve got it. And I know I whine incessantly about the cold when we don’t got it, and it really is very lovely to be able to leave the house without the ol’ snowsuit, but God, summer doesn’t half get the crazies out.
At the football pitch I pass when walking the dog:
A gang of teenagers racing two cars (ACTUAL cars, not toy ones, by the way. Like, real, live cars. That people can travel in.) around the grass pitch (Cars! On the grass! Where children were playing!) and blaring out music at top volume as they went.
In front of the pub I passed not two minutes later:
A gentleman who looked to be in his sixties, wearing nothing but what looked like a pair of boxer shorts, Doc Marten boots and a smile. In MAY. In SCOTLAND. I mean, it’s warm, but it’s not that freaking warm, people… (Actually, call me old fashioned, but I don’t think it’s EVER warm enough for boxer shorts in public. Am I wrong?)
From the house I passed one minute after THAT:
Music blaring at the sound level commonly known as "louder than hell".
At the ice cream van parked in our street:
A small white dog barking hysterically at all of the children standing in line, almost as if said dog thought he was a WOLF and that, I dunno, he could frighten them all into handing over their ice creams or something?
At the local beauty spot we walked the dog in yesterday:
Two teenage boys shattering the silence of the pleasant, country meadow-thing with an MP3 player which was blaring music through speakers. SPEAKERS. Why do MP3 players come with speakers now? That’s why
God Apple made headphones, surely? And if I wanted to listen to a teenager’s choice of music, I wouldn’t drive all the way to the local beauty spot, you know? No, I’d just walk round the corner, to where they race their cars on the football pitch…
At the very steep hill in the middle of the aforementioned beauty spot:
A red haired girl sailing down the hillside on her ass, emitting a high pitched squealing noise as she went, much to the surprise of the two teenagers who were making out on the other side of the hill.
Oh no, wait: that last one was me. AND I hurt my wrist when I fell.
Ah well, no one’s perfect…