At 17, I dreamed of impressing my first girlfriend with my knowledge of literature. Of course it all went laughably wrong
You’re probably enjoying long, hot summer days less than you used to. Apart from the roads and the rails melting and the sleepless nights, there’s that nagging feeling that we’re all going to hell in a handcart. Assuming, of course, that the handcart hasn’t packed up in the heat.
Until I was 17, I loved long summer days. I would be out for hours with my mates playing football, cricket and whatnot, or darting around woods and fields, secretly pretending I was one of the Famous Five. But then came a particular long, hot summer day, the scars of which for me have rather ballsed up all subsequent long, hot summer days.
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At 17, I dreamed of impressing my first girlfriend with my knowledge of literature. Of course it all went laughably wrongYou’re probably enjoying long, hot summer days less than you used to. Apart from the roads and t...
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