Let the heavens open for my sake

LAST week the Standard ran a front page about Lincolnshire’s drought.

And I have to say I found myself feeling quite sorry for local farmers who’s livelihood is at stake due to the great unpredictable British weather.

But I have to say once I put the paper down I didn’t think of it again.

That was until the unfathomable, unbearable, sticky, sweaty ‘British Summer’ that arrived for two days on Sunday.

First of all Tesco was a nightmare.

Usually you are fairly safe leaving the big shop until Sunday, but not this week.

This week the place was being picked clean by great fat chavs displaying their flesh, worts and all in some cases, and filling their trollies with beer and barbarcue food bargains.

It is one thing negotiating my way around shuffling pensioners, but throw in the young mums and dads and it made for a wholly unpleasant experience.

In the end I’m ashamed to say I abandoned my half full trolley and decided I’d get by on freezer food and takeaways this week.

And it was not just the big shop that was the problem.

The market place was awash with the great unwashed sluggishly making their way back and forth in an attempt still to shop in the awful heat.

It was like an episode of the The Prisoner out there.

Meanwhile things were no better over at Marshall’s Yard.

The place was riddled with happy, sickly, smiling tots racing through the fountains and yelling and laughing at the top of their little lungs.

Awful it was.

Of course the main thing it highlighted to me was the sheer number of children playing truant. Monday was just as busy as it was on Sunday.

Not only that but it appears there’s a plague of 18 to 55 year-olds in the town who don’t work.

Mind you that shouldn’t come as such a shock. The unemployment rate round here is sky high and thanks to the useless monkeys in Government that’s not set to go down anytime soon.

People were lounging about idly like they thought they were French.

Except they were less healthy and will no doubt not live as long.

So come Monday night when finally I escaped the stifling heat at Gainsborough Towers I found myself praying for a bit of good old proper British weather.

Perhaps the reason it rains in Gainsborough usually is because the residents all look considerably better with more clothes on.

Or even better when the weather is so bad they all stay at home.

Bring back the snow I say.