1. The weepette is fucking annoying in the heat. In the house it spends all day depositing balls in my lap and whimpering. If taken to the park, it lurks in the bushes, avoiding eye contact, and refuses to chase a ball, in the manner of a plump fourteen year old during double games. I half expect to see a Woodbine smouldering in the corner of its mouth, but no, it is mainly busy licking abandoned ice cream wrappers. Since returning home, I note that it appears to have managed to roll in something foul smelling. Oh, lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Eau de Crotte de Renard pour Weepette.
2. On top of this, the park in summer is a zone of terror for me, due to having a head which attracts projectiles as surely as the 92 tram attracts smelly lunatics. Frisbees, footballs, boomerangs, they are all coming straight for me. The frequency with which I have been thwacked on the back of the head by a "fun" projectile while a gang of youths dissolves in giggles defies the laws of both probability and physics.
2. My neighbours, the Von Trapps, have taken to living entirely out of doors in the beautiful sunshine. They are endlessly, loudly, annoying. On Sunday they had a family meeting which kicked off with sung prayers. And it hurts my ribs to laugh at the moment, so I am doubly annoyed with them.
4. My bank have seen fit to cancel my credit card due to "suspected fraud" AGAIN. They do this every couple of months. Since the cash machine swallowed my debit card recently, I am once again without visible means of support. Marvellous! Thank you ING, you band of orange halfwits! (I am in credit, by the way. This is not even my fault, for once).
5. I do not wish to cook, yet I still wish to eat. Due to 4, I cannot solve this conundrum by throwing money at it. Monstrously inconvenient. Lunch is thus an ancient strawberry Cornetto from the very bottom of the freezer. Dinner might be a bag of frozen peas or possible a raw chicken breast popsicle.
6. The stuff I have been using to wash the floor smells HORRIBLE, like a stale old people's home. It is too far to the supermarket to get some that doesn't smell like sheltered housing. I am surrendering to the inevitable. Or I might slosh some bleach around if I'm feeling fancy. Oh, it's all go here.
7. There is no iced coffee in Brussels. I don't normally like iced coffee, but now that I can't have it I am furiously desperate to have some. I crave it like a sticky, sweet, milky drink junkie. I want the nasty kind you get on Greek islands, which is inexplicably delicious considering it is Nescafé and milk and sugar. Or cheap, nasty, Mr Whippy made with emulsified seal fat in the time honoured manner. If you can find "glace italienne" as it is called in Francophone places (I bet the Italians are delighted with that), it tastes distressingly like it is made of natural ingredients, and melts properly. For me, Mr Whippy is only authentic if it does not really melt at all, and barely tastes cold, due to the particular properties of seal fat.
8. The 92 tram makes me want to vomit at this time of year. If I wanted to sit in a pool of someone else's sweat, well... I don't actually know where I'd go, but it sure as hell wouldn't be the Schaerbeek tram dépôt. 20 minutes on the 92 tram currently makes me feel like I will never be clean again. I am not normally bothered about being clean in the first place, but it really is an extra-special level of disgusting which activates even my well-suppressed revulsion reflexes.
9. Some kind of nervous tic has made me scratch my left foot until it bleeds in several places. Pretty! Excellent with strappy sandals! Oddly, I remember doing precisely the same thing this time last year. It's lovely to note that my coping strategies have not evolved even slightly in twelve months.
10. My strimmer is in some way defective and has used up the whole spool of stringy stuff. Is this too technical for you? Yeah, me too. ANYWAY. The bastard no longer works. I would have to go to Brico to make it work. I would rather lick the seats of the 92 tram than go to Brico right now. Consequently, my neighbours hate me for the revolting state of my garden. Yeah, whatever. Stop singing and abusing woodwind instruments, then we'll talk.
11. The summer makes me feel like I should be out having frenetic, hysterical fun. I am not qualified in frenetic, hysterical fun, nor do I know where it lives, so instead I have a sort of permanent restlessness.
12. My chest is too large and does not fit into anything. I know one's décolleté is not the worst place to gain weight, and it does have the advantage of ahem, drawing the eye away from weight gain in other areas. But it is very annoying for clothes purposes. I need some kind of reinforced steel Marks & Spencer Joan of Arc minimiser bra.
13. Mood swings like a pre-menstrual gorilla. Rejoice! Snarl. Weep. Rejoice! Snarl. Weep. Exhausting.
14. Getting over Stuff takes longer than you could ever believe. I am boring myself.
15. The Cos sale will be starting soon and I will have to walk past it and resist going in.
16. My suncream makes my fingers feel funny and puts my teeth on edge. Moreover, despite my best suncream efforts I am very freckly, like a village idiot.
17. 90% of my wardrobe is in a crumpled heap on the floor. Of the remaining 10% I fit into 0.1% and of that 0.1% I wish to wear 0.00000001% (this probably equates to one sock). When I even look at the iron my bones turn to jelly.
18. I only got halfway through Season 4 of 30 Rock before the TOTALLY legal method I was watching it with er, broke.
19. My nearest supermarket does not sell bags of ice. I must either make my own (OH THE HUMANITY) or walk an extra 500 yards. Unbearable.
20. Ceiling Thing, rather brilliantly, managed to fall off the ceiling whilst leaving behind one green sticky limb, which will be almost impossible to remove. Magnificent!
21. I am completely unequal to the task of finding 33 things to whine about today because actually, secretly, I am really quite enjoying the sun. Ssssssh.
Ok, your turn. One or more first world whines in the comments. How unbearably heavy is your glass of Pimms? Does the gentle thunk of tennis balls give you a migraine? I am hear to commisterate.