Why I hate (occasional) sunny days.

Sunny days are rubbish.

Rather, occasional sunny days are rubbish.

When the sun only appears once every so often, you have this awful pressure to actually go out and make the most of it. Waking up later in the day feels like some sort of crime against humanity.

Given my rather disparate nature, I’m not exactly the first person that gets called to go do something in a pack on such sunny days… and let’s be honest… even if I was, I’d probably decline anyway. I can do without that sort of strain.

Give me night times instead; they’re the great leveller.

In the dark the imperfections become less important, and it doesn’t really matter whether you’re out or go home early, because really, you’re meant to be asleep at that time anyway.

I’m not really up for hanging about parks full of drunken idiots just because it’s a bit sunnier than normal. I’d rather hang about clubs full of drunken idiots. At least that way I can drink without having to assemble a crowd and worry about getting done for consuming alcohol in a public place.

You don’t get scenes like this on sunny days.

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