Everyone around me is commenting on the loveliness of the weather and I’m wiping the sweat off my upper lip and hoping for a nice southerly

I’m not made for heatwaves. If my DNA could talk, it would tell me about how it still dreams of the windswept Scottish island that was home to my ancestors and then ask why it’s so hot outside.

Many people talk about suffering low moods in winter but I’m the opposite. I adore winter but easily get sad in summer. Everyone around me is commenting on the loveliness of the weather and I’m wiping the sweat off my upper lip and squinting at the rain radar again in case I missed a hint of a cloudburst or nice southerly that’s on its way to save me. It can be isolating to be one of the seemingly few who fail to revel in a season that others thrive in.