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Stay calm, Britain.

All has returned to normal sooner than you can say DID THE QUEEN REALLY WEAR THE EU FLAG ON HER TIFTER YESTERDAY?

The rain is upon us, the cool breeze whipping us back into ship-shape.

Before we know it, the school summer holidays will be here and it will pour reassuringly for six weeks straight and by mid-August we’ll be secretly putting the heating on, making sure to turn it off before Mr Austerity gets home and yells WHY THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING HEATING ON IN FUCKING AUGUST? To which I reply BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T SPENT THE LAST TWELVE HOURS IN A STATIONARY POSITION PLAYING MINECRAFT WITH THE CHILD YOU SPAWNED WHEN I WAS DRUNK ON HOLIDAY…

Ahem.

For my international readers, let me explain that whilst it is true our country is on the brink of civil war with an unstable, dangerous government who neglect our most vulnerable citizens to a degree which we are all just about waking up to and who are currently giving political lapdances to a bunch of fanatics so they can go and stamp their tiny, insignifcant feet in Brussels, like an army of jumped-up Napoleons who are about to send our great nation into a permanent period of ‘time out’…whilst all that is going on, all we have been able to talk about for the past few days is the weather, which has been uncharacteristically hot.

I have coped with the heat extremely well by lolling about all day in sarongs, declaring it too hot to attempt anything domestic. Many of you will have seen the sunshine as a super opportunity to break the back of the laundry and put the washing out. You are not my people.

My people (those of us whose bodies outwardly demonstrate our inner desires for food and booze and lolling about) know that any physical exertion in the heat will result in the rediscovery of folds and creases which are cheerfully overlooked and denied for the rest of the year.

Instead we must drink as if on holiday whilst continuing to parent our children who, in the heat, become even more rewarding company.

Youngest has been in a permanent state of heat exhaustion and fury that this weather has marvellously coincided with our attempt to re-grow our patchy lawn so I can’t let him get the paddling pool out like ALL THE GOOD MUMMIES DO.

Eldest has also been in a fury because this weather has marvellously coincided with her A level exams which is FUCKING UNFAIR because she can’t be out in it tanning herself and also FUCKING UNFAIR because she can’t eat properly.

I’ve never understood this curious heat effect where people say, ‘Oh, it’s too hot to eat’ and ‘you just don’t fancy anything heavy, do you?’ Eh? Your stomach is INSIDE your body. It is permanently IN THE SHADE, protected from outside elements. You can continue to eat normally.

I’ve been taking eldest into college for her exams so that she can have longer in the morning to fret over her eyebrows and her future. Youngest had to tag along this morning. It went like this:

Her: I’m gonna put Captial radio on while I read out my revision cards.

Him: Whhhhyyyyy? I HATE the radio.

Me: You’re not the one with the exam. We’ll turn it off on the way back.

Him: This is the worst morning EVER and it’s TOO COLD IN THIS CAR.

Me: Put your jumper on. I can’t turn down the air-con or I’ll melt.

Her: PLEASE can I fucking read!

Him: What would happen if you drove down this road at 70 miles an hour?

Me: I don’t know. Shhh. Let your sister concentrate.

Her: The gothic genre came about after the Enlightenment when people became more aware of-

Him: Would the police come?

Her: Aaaarrggggh shut UP!

Me: Yes, they would. Now be quiet.

Her: After the Enlightenment when-

Him: I have THREE things I need to say.

Her: (slamming revision cards down) I knew this would happen.

Me: Right. Three things. Go.

Him: Number one, is that a high school?

Me: Yes.

Him: Number two, can I open the window to let some warm air in?

Me: No. And number three?

Him: My socks hurt.

Her: Fucks sake Mum, can’t you stop him?

Me: It’s eight years too late for that and I was drunk…

Eventually, after the girl is dropped and the boy is dropped, the temperature finally drops. Jeans are put on. Ditto washing. Ditto the news. Fans are switched off, and with them all the distractions of the heat.

It was just an uncharacteristic heatwave. And for a while we revelled in its mirage of strangeness. But it was just that, a shimmering illusion.

Britain is ‘functional’ once again.

A bit chilling, isn’t it?