Ooh it’s hot isn’t it? Isn’t it hot? It’s just too hot isn’t it?

Actually, I like it. I’ve realised I lose some of my curmudgeonity (is that a word?) when the sun is out. I cheer up a bit. The usual endless grey skies in this country get me down.

Everyone feels the same way of course about miserable weather, they just hide it better than me. Or pretend to themselves that everything is fantastic (pronounced “fntarstic”). Hiding behind a facade of false smiles.

I’m not talking about genuinely happy people, just people who pretend they’re happy. You know, for effect.

They’re usually “morning people”. Always bright and chirpy at 9am, whatever the weather. “Morning! Morning!”

I’d imagine in the aftermath of a nuclear war, after crawling for 17 miles on my hands and knees through ash and nuclear fallout, finally coming across the pile of remains that was once my office, there would be a morning person already there, sitting behind a charred desk greeting me with: “Morning! Bad traffic was it?”

I remember chatting to a morning person once who said she couldn’t understand why people walked about with headphones on listening to music when “you can listen to and enjoy all the wonderful sounds of a morning stroll though town”.

“You obviously didn’t grow up in Doncaster,” I replied. “With the wonderful morning sounds of unmarried mums screaming at their kids.”

She didn’t. She grew up in Barnes.

But, when the sun is out, I feel good. More alive. So why don’t I move somewhere hot?

Well, the answer is I’d have nothing to moan about. Well, that’s not strictly true. It might be a bit too hot there.