Rosé rush- You’ve been stockpiling rosé. You claimed it was because of Brexit but actually it was because it made you feel glamorous to buy more than two bottles at a time. You plan to serve it with a fistful of ice (you have also bought a small outdoor freezer), in enormous Game of Thrones-style goblets. There are bottles everywhere… Hold on, they are all empty. How did that happen?
Minibreak madness - This is the month when you panic-buy minibreaks to improbable destinations. You can’t afford Paris or Venice. And anyway, you want to be travel-forward. Directional. An early adopter. So it’s Minsk. And Tbilisi. You don’t really want to go. You just want to stay home and drink more rosé.
Trumped - It’s been four months since you depilated anything – and although you tried to pretend it was hot feminist fuzz, it was just winter. Now it’s May, and you opt for a complete overhaul. Full-body wax, full-body tan, hair a shade lighter. You look like a big orange, blonde baby. Basically, you look like Donald Trump.
Festival foolishness - You wake up in the middle of the night, having made an enormous decision. This is the year you are going to pop your festival cherry. Forget the fact that you don’t like camping, loud music, staying up late, rain, mud, peeing in the open air or people. You buy tickets. And you spend the next six weeks trying to sell them.
Frock horror - Last year you ordered one of those floaty beach dresses that stalked you on the internet and it didn’t arrive until October when everything was over. Now they are back, following you around Instagram, and you know you shouldn’t, you know they will last a weekend, you know they make you look like a Bedouin tent, you know they will be flammable and unethical and sweaty, but you JUST CAN’T HELP IT.
One run - You hit the park. Headphones on. Gangster rap blaring. You nail 1K and feel like you are going to do this every day until October. You are a runner. A person who runs. You never run again.
Salad days - Late one night you overhaul your online grocery order. Goodbye sausage casseroles, hello peaches and zaatar for an Ottolenghi-ish salad. Because that’s who you are (you aren’t). Wait, zaatar is a herb blend? You thought it was like couscous. You feel defeated. The peaches go mouldy. Along with your enthusiasm.
Al freeze-co - ‘Isn’t it nice to sit outside?’ you think. ‘I am going to sit outside for the whole summer,’ you think. ‘It’s just a small breeze,’ you think. ‘I am so glad I am still getting so much use out of this expensive, could-climb-Everest-in jacket,’ you think. ‘The British weather is really helping with the cost-per-wear.’
Unexpected horn - May brings many surprises. Like a sudden and violent desire for sex. With a variety of people, but often hairy men with man buns you spot on the train. You haven’t felt this way about anyone since the priest in Fleabag. OH GOD.
Air-con con - Last year, when you realised it really was going to be HOT, you spent a billion pounds on an air-conditioning unit that sounded like an aeroplane taking off in your bedroom all night. You didn’t sleep but at least you could lie completely covered by the duvet, nothing exposed to the night demons. Anyway, this year you have a ceiling fan fitted. Does it look a little ‘tropical’ for your maisonette? No. Stop planting thoughts in your head. Go away.