After a number of false starts, summer has finally dragged herself out of bed leaving just enough time to have a quick shower and throw on a small cotton dress and strappy sandals before autumn comes knocking at the door.
A lot of people love summer and as soon as the clouds clear and the mercury in the thermometer shoots upwards they're in their element, with exclamations of "Ooh, isn't it lovely?".
Me? I prefer to stay in the shade, taking advantage of any opportunity to bring my body temperature down even if it means hanging around the chilled food section in the supermarket, trying not to look suspicious.
I don't function too well when the temperature goes up, which is why my ideal foreign holiday would probably be in Norway, not Spain. The hotter it gets, the more useless I become, with a steady decline in physical and mental function as it sweeps beyond about 22 celsius, and by the time it gets to 30 I'm good for absolutely nothing beyond sitting in the fridge with the beer until it goes away.
The heat isn't the only unwanted thing that summer brings out with her in her little sequined clutch bag.
Tucked away behind the bright red lipstick and a spare lacy thong, she keeps all manner of bugs specifically designed to make our lives unpleasant.
Probably the most useless creature in this little menagerie of meanness is the wasp. The idea of al-fresco dining is an attractive one, but the reality is that any attempt to do it will be spoiled by the arrival of a squadron of wasps with the sole intent of hanging around everyone's heads and stinging for no reason other than the fact that they can.
Depeche Mode said "I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours, but I think that God's got a sick sense of humour", and they were spot on. If indeed creation is real, then it would take a pretty twisted mind to come up with something as despicable as the wasp. Either that or wasps were one of the last things to be made and by that time the creator was so bored with making nice things like giraffes and meerkats that his frustrations came out in designs that expressed his grumpiness.
Like mosquitos. Last night I'd just switched off the light when my dog-ears picked up the distinctive whine of a patrolling mozzie in the room, so rather than spending the night being a three-course meal I put the light back on and went hunting - knowing I'd be unable to relax until the bitey little bastard was dead.
Summer provides us with an abundance of flies too, with one of the greatest annoyances being those tiny little fruit flies that aimlessly circle the light fitting for a while before committing suicide by drowning themselves in my glass of Italian merlot.
During the summer every sip demands a quick inspection to ensure the glass doesn't contain more protein than it's supposed to.
Then we have ants. During the winter their miniature armies remain below ground where they belong, but as soon as summer gets her party frock on they despatch themselves to every corner of their kingdom, and on the hottest days they send out the air force to conquer new territory. There are few things as disturbing around the home than the sudden appearance of a wave of flying ants, You squish what you can before making an emergency run to the shops to stock up on Raid because the can left in the cupboard from last year only contained enough product to mildly inconvenience three ants with asthma.
If ants were the size of dogs we would not be the dominant species on this planet.
They appear to have no purpose in this world beyond expanding their numbers and territory at the expense of everything around them, including other colonies.
Much like humans when you think about it.