I do not get along with the months surrounding the summer solstice. The sun reliably gives me a rash on my arms in May, despite my precautions. More people are out and the world becomes noisier, more crowded. These English buildings are fortified against cold and damp, not warmth, and the flat is stuffy. (Why do landlords have a penchant for painting windows shut?) I am agitated and annoyed.

There is also the problem of the British going doolally in warm sunshine. It is not uncommon to see previously white Yorkshiremen transformed into boiled lobsters. I do not know if this is through folly or by design. Bright sunlight becomes a fresh excuse to drink a gallon of booze, with the added novelty of drinking it outside. While drunks enter the Ouse (and die in it) every year, the risk is greater when the weather is warm and the river suddenly looks inviting. Without the cold and the rain to chivvy bar patrons home after kicking out time, that other great British pastime, the drunken brawl, comes to the fore.

So everyone else is all shiny and happy and/or tipsy. “Isn’t this lovely,” they say with beaming faces, while social media fills with photographs of gardens and couples smiling in the sunshine and gardens and children in pools. Meanwhile, I feel the opposite, resting secure in the knowledge that my alienation will never starve.

I know many people who struggle during the dark of the year, a few to a pathological degree, and it is a comfort to me to know that they can put that behind them for the time being. But they have plenty of company when it comes to The Great January Mope. I feel alone, even though I am not: According to the Mayo Clinic (via Wikipedia), “Although each individual case is different, in contrast to winter SAD, people who experience spring and summer depression may be more likely to show symptoms such as insomnia, decreased appetite and weight loss, and agitation or anxiety.”

As those with SAD treat themselves with light, I address my symptoms with dark. I stay in low light conditions. I have a blackout blind in my bedroom. I run at dawn. If I do go out in daylight, I cover up and wear a hat.

I also keep quiet for the most part. I realise I am in the minority, and shitting on another’s parade is not going to make me feel any better. Instead I try to think of what things I actually like about this time of year. So far the list reads:

1. I am glad I get to wear sandals.

It’s a work in progress.