Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Dear Sun,

Well, I just don’t know what to say to you anymore. You just drop by whenever you feel like it, raise my hopes, then go off to Spain, Greece, or wherever takes your fancy. And don’t get me started on Cyprus. It’s 35c over there today. Thirty-five! I mean, how could you? You spend all summer with them. Every year! I hardly ever see you.

Yes, I have tried self-tanning lotions but they’re all fake. FAKE, I tell you. What? Which incident with the sunbed? I don’t…oh, wait a minute. Ahem. That was ages ago, it meant absolutely nothing. I was desperate, wasn’t thinking straight. Yes, I know they can hurt you, thank you very much. Look, it was just one-off, okay. I didn’t even enjoy it. I mean, you’re always letting me down, aren’t you? Promising to show up then sending all that gust and rain in your place. It’s too much to bear. I’ve had to go into therapy. Me! Can you believe it? They’ve even put me on vitamin D.

Of course, I know you’re worshipped worldwide, but what about poor us in the UK? We’re your biggest fans, you know. In fact, whenever you turn up we take to Twitter and Facebook proclaiming our joy of your arrival. What do you mean I complain when you’re here? I’ve never…oh, hang on. That’s only when you’re a bit full-on. You must admit, you can be a bit over-generous and muggy, can’t you? I mean 38c in London, it’s unthinkable. I could barely type, and you kept me up all night with all that heat. I mean, is a cool breeze at night too much to ask for? No, a fan won’t do, I can’t sleep with all that noise. Open all the windows? You really are being silly now. What if a bat or insects fly in and chew all my toes off while I’m asleep? What then, hmm?

Anyway, I’ve had enough of your excuses and quite enough of your downpours, to be honest. I don’t think I can cope with this anymore. I’m leaving you for a light lamp. No, don’t try to stop me! My mind’s made up. Yes, yes, I’ll see you around. Bye.

P.S. I love you.