Man trying to ignore all the shit bits about sunshine

A MAN is struggling to enjoy the gorgeous weather because he is having to ignore all of its many awful side effects.

Josh Hudson knows that glorious sunshine is good in theory, but is having to go to a lot of effort to block out all of the annoying bollocks that goes along with it.

He said: “You can’t complain about sunny weather because it makes you look like a miserable killjoy. Something this good shouldn’t be such a pain in the bloody arse though.

“I’ve had to shut the blinds so the glare doesn’t bounce off the TV and blind me, my body has found new places to sweat out of, and if I want to go outside I have to lather my body in a special protective cream first. You don’t get that shit in autumn.

“Then if I do step out I don’t know where to look. At the pretty ladies in their skimpy floral dresses? I’m not taking that risk. At the topless blokes? I’m not into rolls of sweaty flab. No, my eyes will have to be glued to the pavement until October.

“But aside from all of that, the flocks of annoying tourists it brings to the area, how it turns everyone into pissed-up dickheads, and the risk of heat stroke, I’m really glad it’s sunny out. Love it.”

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Camping chairs, hummus, Prosecco: The middle-aged concert-goer's packing checklist

YOU used to go to raves with just a can of Red Stripe and a pocketful of drugs. Now you go to open-air concerts with half the contents of your house and kitchen. Here’s your packing checklist:

Camping chairs

Every member of your party needs an expensive folding chair with cup holder and padded seat, as you’re over 40 now and your back hurts if you stand up for longer than nine minutes.


Dogs mark their territory with piss; middle-aged open-air concert-goers use gazebos. Step inside the boundary of someone else’s gazebo at your peril.


If for some bizarre reason you don’t own a gazebo, you can guard your space with a blanket instead. Must roll up and be secured with Velcro straps. Will be mouldy because you forgot to dry it out after it rained when you saw ‘Lesley Garrett Sings Rave Hits of the Nineties’ last year.


Because it’s guaranteed to rain. Must be huge.


Prosecco. And cocktails in cans. And Sauvignon Blanc. And bottles of Peroni. And a can of Coke for Jeremy, who’s driving. All packed in a cool box the size of a fridge.


Had Scott of the Antarctic taken as much food on his South Pole expedition as you’re taking to see Paul Weller at Westonbirt Arboretum, he’d have easily survived. The local area will experience a serious hummus drought.


You once took so much acid at a Chemical Brothers gig that you heard colours and tasted time. Now you drop heartburn tablets, because the M&S brie on rosemary crackers was just too moreish.


Filled with tea. Because you can’t drink alcohol after 10.30pm or you’ll be hungover for the next three days.

Hand gel and toilet roll

Because even at a concert filled with people in their 40s and 50s the portaloos will be disgusting and you’re too sophisticated to piss in a hedge nowadays.

Sensible shoes

For driving home in. And dancing in. High heels and the manicured lawns of the National Heritage properties where you exclusively attend gigs nowadays don’t mix.

First aid kit

Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it, you say to yourself. By this reasoning, you also bring sunscreen, wet wipes, a cushion, your favourite wine glass and a book to read while you wait for the concert to start.