Brendan O'Connor: Our Sunshine Affective Disorder
Isn't it marvellous? We caught one of those rare glimpses last week, and possibly until Tuesday, of the people we like to imagine we can be. These are our true selves – carefree, good-looking, superficial, mindless people who drink outdoors, as against brooding, pasty, deep thinkers who drink indoors.
When we are finished blaming the Government, and then the Brits, and then the EU for all our problems, we like to take it right to the top and blame God, for the climate with which he has cursed us. It is the weather that makes us read too many books; it is the weather that makes us write too many books; it is the weather that makes us eat all those damn potatoes; it is the weather that makes us drink.
We like to imagine that if only life were fair and we had the right weather, we would be different: less tormented by thought; less burdened by the brooding; better looking and with better teeth, maybe even our skin beaten into submission with a tan, a real one.