Sunstroke, climate change, colonialism: the Guardian's guide to ruining any enjoyment of the nice weather

SOAKING up the last of the summer heat before a long, hard, cold winter? The Guardian thinks you need to feel bad about that: 

Skin damage

Sunny weather is the perfect time to obsess about the long-term damage the sun is wreaking on your skin. If you’ve not been applying factor 50 every six minutes since July then prepare to reap a whirlwind of skin cancer, premature aging and, if you’re a white person with a tan, cultural appropriation of marginalised communities. Fascist.

Climate change

Basking in the sun? You ignorant bastard. Gather your children, slap their ice-creams from their hands and remind them that the world as they know it is already over. Making sandcastles is just a precursor to the fortified homes of the UK Water Wars of 2030. Because of days like this, we are all going to die.


Taking a last chance to sit out and build up vitamin D? Well, your feeble British body is utterly unequipped to handle these temperatures. Anything above a meagre 16 degrees and you’re in grave danger. Stay in the shade, scream if touched by a ray of direct sunlight and ideally go back indoors.

Wild swimming

Surely the Guardian can’t have anything against wild swimming, the activity it’s been obsessed with for f**king years? Of course it can. Now water companies are spewing sewage into the sea and cyanotic algae blooms in our lakes, wild swimming is dangerous, privileged and tone-deaf. You bastard.


A beach ball? You honestly think that’s okay? And what about the endangered harbour porpoise whose blowhole will be blocked by the deflated beach-ball you lost in the waves? Its body ending up with your beach ball in the great Pacific garbage patch? The damage you and your evil beach ball have done to the environment should haunt your dreams.


White people, sitting out enjoying the sun? You know who did that? The colonial masters of India, the sugar cane slavers of Jamaica, and any other number of racist British monsters. You’re basically cosplaying as a white supremacist, with your camping chair and your Fab. Go home and issue a full apology on Twitter.

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How to have a traditional Recovery Monday

DID you hit the pub hard last night, safe in the knowledge you have today off? Do Recovery Monday in traditional style: 

Rise late

Ideally after midday. This isn’t Christmas, there’s no reward for waking up early. The only thing waiting for you is a cold half-eaten pizza on the kitchen table and a toilet full of vomit you don’t remember producing. And the telly’s on, and the front door’s half-open.

Decorate your home

Transform your flat with Recovery Monday decorations: sprinkle the contents of your ashtray and stash box across the sofa, place two slices of cold, burnt toast in the toaster, and erect a towering pile of washing-up in the kitchen sink. The true celebrant will have already done it last night.

Remember times past

At New Year, we join hands and think of auld acquaintance. On birthdays, we gather those close to us to recall the happy times of the past. On this holiday, we go through our phones, searching text records, social media accounts and Amazon purchases to try to remember what the f**king hell we did last night.

Prepare a festive meal

Easter has eggs, Halloween has Haribo, and Recovery Monday also has a ritual feast. Beginning with paracetamol, Lucozade and a bag of onion rings from the nearest corner shop, by mid-afternoon it’s time to whip up a feast big enough for a whole family, courtesy of Deliveroo and your local takeaway, then to eat it alone in front of Spartacus on ITV4.

Do f**k all

Lying on the sofa mindlessly scrolling on your phone while half-watching telly is a sacred recovery Monday activity. Doing productive stuff like filing your tax return or going for a run is heresy and is punishable by disapproval from your friends. Three-hour trips to the bathroom are allowed and in most cases unavoidable.

Succumb to dread

As your hangover recedes your guilt will rise. You’ve wasted this precious day off. You could have read a book, started learning an instrument or applied for a better job. Too late now. Lie back and let the crushing futility of life wash over you. Everything will return to awful normality by tomorrow.