An Ode to Rain

Whilst I can accept that the sun is key to all life bar the weird shit swirling round in the darkest depths of the ocean, there’s simply no excuse for what it’s currently doing. England is experiencing a mini heatwave of sorts, prompting people to prophesise once again that these are our few brief days of summer. They say this despite the fact that it is April and therefore spring, and that year on year summers are getting increasingly hotter.



Figure 1: Graph stolen from a site that looks like it proves my point, but if looked at in detail doesn’t really.


Still, the British population complains we don’t get enough sun and that it’s always raining. I for one think that the last few days have been unbearable. Not only do I find anything over 8 degrees (Celsius, the best of all the degrees) maddeningly uncomfortable, heat also causes a river of sweat to sweep into the narrow valley of my arse crack causing me to constantly wonder whether I have shat myself.

The intense solar rays also inflict the British public with a form of madness, turning them all into dicks or, at the very least, they bring their innate dickishness to the surface. Men are the first to succumb to this because on the whole, they’re more dickish. The first symptom manifests itself in the mistaken belief that they no longer have to be dressed when they’re outside. Shirts become a temporarily forgotten thing and swollen egos strut around displaying their thoroughly underwhelming bodies in an animalistic display. Skinny and chubby men tense with all their might to look appealing, giving themselves hernias in the process. Those with sculpted six-packs stride through fields with sickly, self- satisfied smiles that make everyone want to hit them with chairs.

There’s never an excuse not to be fully clothed. No one takes their trousers off screaming that it’s too hot. If it’s not acceptable on the bottom half, then it’s not acceptable on the top.


A variation on my collection of ‘you’re a dick’ signs.


Then the coffee shops become clogged with bodies. Queues stretch out the doors and move at a snail’s pace. This is not because people feel inclined to have a nice espresso as they sit in the afternoon sun like someone might in Italy. Not that I’ve ever been to Italy, just sounds like the sort of thing they’d get up to before riding off on a moped and doing… doing something overtly Italian. Those crazy Italians and their ways. No. Instead, as it’s hot, people think going to a coffee shop for a cold drink is a good idea. A drink with numerous ingredients that requires blending in some weird industrial blender, with a frankly indecipherable name.

If people are not guzzling on children’s fruity milk drinks (made adult by the addition of ‘cino’), they’re sucking on beer or cider bottles or sipping fizzy wine, depending on how the class war’s going at the time. It’s hot, therefore drinking in public is acceptable. If it’s raining, a lone figure sat on a bench and hunched over a can of cheap Polish lager is a sign of poor life choices or serious economic and social woe. If it’s sunny, the world and their nan are getting pissed in public and leaving a trail of discarded bottles and cans in their wake. Like slugs. Except their slime isn’t biodegradable.



I hate them almost as much as I hate this sun enjoying cock!


Then come the inevitable invitations to barbeques. Either at someone’s house or gathered around a foil, disposable thing like prehistoric man, charring cheap strips of meat until it resembles something vaguely edible. Or, in people’s gardens, as they roast marinated meat and vegetable kebabs on huge, expensive beasts as everyone gets drunk and the neighbours’ children die of smoke inhalation. ‘Nothing beats a barbeque’ people say. ‘It’s just cooking outside’ I say. ‘Who invited you?’ they say before I retreat back inside and stew in my own sweat, desperately opening every window in an attempt to get the air to move.

But alas it remains still. My efforts just aid the insect invasion. Flies and wasps of all sizes seem to find their way in with ease and yet haven’t evolved to the point they can consider leaving the same way. They circle the place buzzing nosily or biting and drinking my blood. Bees occasionally make themselves known, but I have a soft spot for the fuzzy, dying things and at least if they sting me they’re doing more damage to themselves.

Sleep becomes a distant memory.  The naivety and innocence of those pleasant winter months, where your bed welcomes you with open arms and hugs you with warm and comforting duvet arms, fades and is replaced with hardship and woe. You toss and turn in a desperate bid to feel some degree of comfort before you have to rise from a fitful sleep and spend another day under the assault of the blaring sun.

Bring back the rain. The rain is the giver of life. The rain washes away the oppression of the hydrogen beast in the sky. The rain brings relief. The rain is forgiving. The rain is loving.

I long to hear the words ‘that’s the end of the British summer.’ And the damn thing hasn’t even started yet.



It’s Hot.

It’s currently sunny and hot. I hate both those things. I don’t know why everyone’s so big on the sun, it’ll be the thing that eventually kills us all. People bemoan the rain. Claiming how it’s always raining, forgetting the fact that it’s plenty of rain that allows for production of crops and you know, all that water we like to drink – especially on hot days.

Rain is great, I love the rain, even beyond its life giving properties. Rain stays outside, it creates a nice ambience, it freshens the air. Same with cold, once you’re indoors with a jumper on, you’ll be alright. Sunlight on the other hand barges into your home uninvited and stabs you in the eyes. The heat is stifling, preventing sleep and worst of all, it brings people outside in droves.

Due to poor life choices and a job market in tatters, I currently work in a pub. It’s awful and if I’m still working there by July I’m finding a bridge to leap off of.  It’s a bank holiday weekend and it’s set to be a hot and sunny one, which means these fucking people are going to all think it’ll be a good idea to go out and get a beer and sit in the pub garden. All of them will think this, regardless of my opinions on the matter.

Then once they’re there they will think “let’s get some food” and who’s going to have to take that food out to them, burning their fingers just so they can stuff their faces? Me that’s who. Fucking sun.  some time ago it rained a lot and no one came out, I got to sit at the bar and do the crossword, it was good, I only had to cheat 3 or 4 times and the rest I texted my dad for answers.

I might not make it through till Tuesday.

I have read that this year is set to be hotter than last year, which was hotter than the year before that, which in turn was hotter before that and so on and so forth. This displeases me for a number of reasons.

A few years ago when I was still at school, global warming was mentioned everywhere. As a society we were very concerned about it. It was on the news on a daily basis. Now it barely gets a mention. We seem to have stopped caring. Admittedly, it’s very difficult to keep caring about it and not go insane with the knowledge we have killed the planet.

I have done some reading to find out where we are at with the global warming stuff. The most recent thinking is that, we’ve fucked it. We’re past the point of no return and the rising of the sea and the roasting of the land is inevitable. There are not enough life boats to save us all, many of us will have to go down with our little island. The polar bears will also die.

The fish will be okay… apart from all that plastic.

With that in mind, will we view the hot summers with suspicion and dread? Will we stop using our cars so much, stop using so much plastic and all en masse tell China to get their shit together? No, you’ll all go to the pub and make me work hard. Drinking away the worry until the world around you turns to desert, or you’re swept away by a tidal wave filled with dead polar bears and Asda bags.

I hate you so much.

‘I need a holiday.’ — this phrase ought to be banned.

Seeing as I have a potentially life affecting exam tomorrow, I thought now would be the best time to discuss something of limited importance. Revision can wait, or maybe I’ll just wing it; or maybe one of you lovely people can send me an in-depth analysis of Paradise Lost and various other texts.

With the weather turning sunnier than it has been in a while and the summer being not too far off, the above phrase has been thrown around a lot.  It’s probably more  a reflection on my own mentality, but that phrase feels me with hatred and inspires me into a fit of rage. Rather than seek help, I think it will be much better if everyone stopped using the phrase altogether. I ‘want’ a holiday is fine, though why you would ever want one is completely beyond me, but nobody ‘needs’ a holiday… ever.

Seriously, I can’t think of any situation that can only be solved with a holiday, unless there’s a rare disease I don’t know about that can only be cured by flinging yourself pointlessly to another location. Or maybe a murderous holiday representative kidnaps your family and the only way he’ll let you see them again is if you go to Disney Land. If that has ever happened let me know, but for now I’ll just go on the assumption that it hasn’t.

I don’t understand what possesses people to think that they genuinely ‘need’ a holiday. ‘Stress’ is something that often comes up as a motivator. However, I find that suspect. When I get stressed I rarely, if ever, find the only way to relax is to pay a fortune to jet off to another country where I don’t know the language or where anything is. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like adventure, but I’d hardly call that stress free.

Furthermore, what is so bad about people’s lives that they feel they need to ‘get away from it all’? Particularly in western society. Is it the life of plenty, the constantly available food, the various mediums of entertainment, the mild weather patterns, the general ease of daily life? And if your life is so mind-numbingly tedious, so dreadfully meaningless, then why do you think a week in Tenerife will be any better. No matter how much vitamin D you absorb from the sun or cheap alcohol you consume, you’ll still have to eventually return to your shit existence, your pointless job and your trivial first world problems.

Why does it have to involve cramming yourself into a plane and expelling tons of choking fumes into our wonderful atmosphere? Why not explore your own country a bit first? Or by holiday, is it generally considered to mean ‘to lay down in the sun?’ if so, then ask yourself, is it really worth it?  Is a holiday justifiable because you got to lay in the sun and crisp up like a piece of garlic bread?  Maybe it’s just me, I personally hate the sun and am content enough with my own life not to try and distract myself from my inevitable demise with needless travel.

‘Oh no Mr. Rambler, you need to immerse yourself in other cultures.’

I will admit, this seemed a nice enough idea. In my liberal, Guardian reading ways I thought that my life would indeed be richer if I spent time amongst other ‘cultures’ so off I went to Germany.

I must say I was amazed at how different life was on the continent. I mean, they had this one establishment that they called a ‘Star Bucks’, you could go in there and order things like coffee and cakes. It was mind-boggling how different their culture was. They would sit conversing, some might have laptops, other’s strange things called books. If they needed to get anywhere they had such a bizarre method of transportation which to my cultureless mind seemed absurd. Busses… trains… am I spelling that right? They would sit in various pods propelled by electricity or the ‘combustion engine’ and it would take them places. My, My how different it was.

Not wishing to be the standard Englishman pointing at things and shouting, I tried to learn a bit of the language… only to have everyone respond to me in English. Which annoyed me if anything. I often had to stop myself from exploding ‘NO! I AM A GUEST IN YOUR COUNTRY, WE WILL SPEAK YOUR LANGUAGE!’ but shouting that in English would simply undermine my argument.

Sorry, went on a bit of a tangent there.

So there you have it, in this ever advancing world, the word ‘culture’ is becoming fairly meaningless, at least to me anyway. So going to ‘expand your mind’ and learn shit isn’t necessary anymore.

No one ‘needs’ any of that nonsense. They don’t really even want it, they just think they do. Because we’ve been convinced that a holiday will solve all our problems and be such an experience that we’ll be talking about it for years other than the truth that we simply fling ourselves abroad, offend some locals and do the same old shit that we do at home.

If we want a holiday that bad, why don’t we install a system in where anyone who feels they ‘need’ a holiday can spend half the year in war-torn, famine infested Africa and a starving african family can live in their house and eat all their food. Two problems solved, at least for a short while anyway.

So the next time you hear someone say ‘I need a holiday’ punch them in the face. Because it makes me angry if nothing else, and it’s a good stress reliever so you won’t need a holiday either.


You know what… after all that I think I need a holiday.

And that is the only joke in this article.

The Fuzzy Rambler.