"Since the dawn of time, man has yearned to destroy the sun."
- The Simpsons

You don't hear the question, "What do you mean by 'good' weather?" very often. 'Good' is sunny and warm and dry. Except that I live in London and sunny and warm and dry usually means sweltering and humid with the sense that there's a big immobile stack of pollution pressing down on the city. When the weather gets hot I find I can't concentrate, I'm tired and I feel a bit sick a lot of the time. My least favourite is when the sky is grey but somewhere up above the sun is hammering down, cooking the exhaust fumes and making the air feel like a sick dog is panting on you. For a similar effect at other times of the year, just wrap a layer of cling-film around yourself before getting dressed in the morning.

But then it starts to rain and I feel better, my brain feels sharper and I'm ready to get on with things. And since most of what I do doesn't involve standing outside - though it may involve looking out the window occasionally - the rain isn't a problem. Actually, even when I do go out, I don't mind the rain. It might be unpleasant in the winter, when it's icy cold, but the occasional spritzing of luke warm water in the Summer seems quite agreeable. And in my mind, I can picture it scrubbing the pollen and carbon monoxide and exhaust particulates out of the air, making it safe to breathe again.

But then it starts to rain and I feel better, my brain feels sharper and I'm ready to get on with things. And since most of what I do doesn't involve standing outside - though it may involve looking out the window occasionally - the rain isn't a problem. Actually, even when I do go out, I don't mind the rain. It might be unpleasant in the winter, when it's icy cold, but the occasional spritzing of luke warm water in the Summer seems quite agreeable. And in my mind, I can picture it scrubbing the pollen and carbon monoxide and exhaust particulates out of the air, making it safe to breathe again.

So apologies to anyone who wishes they could sit outside cooking in the sun, but I've been willing it to rain for the last couple of months. The forecasters were warning that this Summer would be another record-breaker: hundred-plus degree heat on the tube, lots of respiratory problems, lots of heat-related deaths that only come to light months later when the statistics have been analysed - and me feeling not-quite-clever-enough the whole time.

Naturally I've recently ceased my attempts to mentally influence the weather; there's no need: it's Glastonbury followed by Wimbledon. Praying for rain is superfluous. But soon it'll be the middle of July and a heat wave is a very real possibility. So am I once again going to wish the rain clouds into place above our heads? Fear not, UV and pollution lovers; I have a different plan. I'm going to move to the Cotswolds some time in July, where I hope the hot weather manifests itself the way my memory tells me (reliably? not sure) that it did when I was little. Inside the thick stone walls of my new house it will be cool, and outside there will be drowsy bees and sleeping cats and lemonade and meadows full of flowers. Instead of thumping bass, there will be the soft muttering of Radio 4. Instead of mopeds revved to a mosquito-like whine by desperately bored teenagers there will be very old people hand-clipping hedges before settling down to the read the paper. Above all, there will be a breeze. And I can stop living like an albino vampire with M.E. through the summer months and instead write a couple of excellent novels. It's going to be great. Just as I've planned it.