IT’S red hot isn’t it? Summer has finally arrived in Huddersfield for its annual two-week holiday in town.
As we speak, bare-chested young men in tracksuit bottoms are walking vicious looking dogs round Greenhead Park.
Supermarket staff are cowering as hordes of shoppers search for the last disposable barbecue and pack of sausages in the store.
Astonished old people in the town centre are sitting and staring at the acres of bare, and often wobbly, pale flesh displayed by women who have thought to fake tan their necks but not their midriffs.
And yet despite all these things, I love hot weather.
My only problem is that, along with millions of others, I can’t help noticing it only ever happens when I’m at work.
As the sun rose yesterday morning and spread the fingers of its heat across the land I thought ‘fantastic’.
Then I got in the car and it was red hot already.
As sun streamed through the windscreen I squinted to see what on earth I was driving towards.
As I waited at the traffic lights with my window down, a gentle breeze cooling my brow, some car pulled up with windows down and music up.
I say music.
Imagine if an octopus swallowed a burglar alarm and then fell over in a cymbal factory while using a power drill.
That sort of music.