We’ve been waiting for it for long enough and it’s finally arrived. Summer has hit the UK at last. This means we can stop moaning about it being cold and wet and start moaning about it being too hot. Summer’s the only time of the year I ever drink lager (above pics taken at Liverpool One, drinking Becks in Palm Sugar bar). Something about the heat makes a cold lager seem like heaven. The rest of the year I hate the stuff. I’ve never drunk much of it since my eighteenth birthday when I drank many, many pints of it and ended up spending the night in the garden because I couldn’t do the equation of how to get my key in the front door. I woke up at five the next morning, soil on my lips, money strewn across the grass, and not one single droplet of moisture in my entire body. I was in bed for the whole of the next day only moving in order to throw up or do occasional convulsions like that girl off The Exorcist. I think it was about a month before I could get the taste of lager out out of my mouth. I still get terrible flashbacks to this day. On a hot Summer day, though, it’s worth the risk.