Dear British Summer,
I think we can agree that this is not your year. We’ve all accepted it.
You can drizzle on our barbecues and drench our walks. You can piddle on our park outings and urinate on our youth camps. We have been soaked and muddied and frizzed to your heart’s content, if not ours.
But killing off the broccoli is a STEP TOO FAR.
I just… I can’t even… There was a line. And you crossed it.
Please consider this your two weeks’ notice.