I may have said, in the past, that I’m not a fan of the summer. But I have to say - I’ve changed my mind.

I’m sick of coming to work feeling slightly damp with coldness. I no longer want to spend 20 minutes deciding which coat to wear (and generally plumping for the wrong, more summery one, in the hope it will brighten up later). I’m fed up that my smooth hair (that I spent far too long straightening) becomes a frizzy, matted mess within 10 metres of leaving my house. I’m sick of having the sniffles, but never a full-blown cold.

Quite frankly, I’m sick of feeling sick.

I want the summer to hurry up so I can wear my Birkenstocks every day and paint my toenails the colour of blood. I want to feel the warmth of the dappled sunshine on my skin. I want to sit on the soft grass in the park at lunchtime and eat unwashed, slightly too-hard strawberries from a plastic container (as is the British way) and most of all - I want to go on holiday. I want to walk on the warm, golden sand and make funny footprint patterns, build intricate sand castles and swim in the freezing cold sea (the sea is always cold, right? (I'm clearly delusional – but not completely insane)!

Is this really too much to ask for?