There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues


Is the colour of summertime really blue? Well, OK apart from the obvious colour of the sky and the sea. Let’s start with profanity. Yup.  The redder the thermometer the bluer the language. It is beyond me how anyone in my youth managed to drive in the heat without air conditioning and not to lob a thermonuclear device into the idiots in front trying to read a road map. Remember those… only men could read them and only women could fold them while doing twenty miles an hour with an indicator that had been blinking for an hour. In London, on the days it gets really hot, a blind person cannot go on the tube. Reason? You cannot transport animals in a temperature over 30c (86f) and the subway regularly reaches 34 (93f). So whilst it was fine to gently poach a commuter, it was illegal for a guide dog to ride the tube! Aircon (again a blue colour) is so critical for comfort. How do London Black Cabs who again have no Aircon, not understand  that in the summer they just give ground to Uber?

...and another thing

Sex. Yup. That’s blue and summer is all about that. Holidays, cheap booze and even cheaper sex. It seems on holiday you leave your morals at passport control to collect a couple of weeks later.

In fact there’s even a movie from 1973 called Blue Summer. Rather touching really. Made at a time when porn movies actually had a writer, in this case Chuck Vincent. He died in 1991 with a healthy and hefty 38 writing credits to his name for soft porn movies. He’d be parking cars and pumping old prom queens now had he lived…  as no internet porn has dialogue, let alone a script! (Universal grunting excepted).

...and another thing

The good old blues. You never see shots of a guitarist plucking away on a rocking chair about how his baby left him wearing mittens, a scarf and a beanie. It’s always hot. Melting hot. Which is strange as suicide is far more prevalent in the winter and now with multichannel TV you don’t get depressed watching last winter’s re-runs so summer should all be smiles. I mean you never see Bjork miserable (though her singing does sound more like wailing).

And the Dear Old Brits are to get at least one blue summertime benefit. From next year we swap the European aubergine passport for the traditional blue ones!

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