This time of year is the bit that I hate the least. It is just warm enough that we can shed a few layers of clothing, yet cool enough that you can sleep at night without dreaming murderous thoughts about those that cause global warming.

Some people like this time of year because of the arrival of pretty girls in tight vests, which is very nice, obviously. The female figure is meant to be admired, so admire it I do. Through an enormous telephoto lens most of the time, but it is still genuine admiration.

Personally though, I look forward to the arrival of the hot goths. And I do not mean ‘hot’ in the attractive sense. No. I mean that there is something intensely satisfying about seeing a guy in a matrix-style leather coat, looking pasty faced yet sweating like he has spent the morning on the Tube sat next to a Muslim backpacker.

Honestly, it makes me smile every time.

I do not know any goths, and made a point of not making the acquaintance of any at school, so I do not understand the need to dress in black and wear mascara. When the sun comes out, and they begin to sweat, and their make-up runs, it is one of the funniest sights in the world. It could not be more funny even if they wore a clown suit and told Tommy Cooper jokes whilst being hit in the face with a hammer. It is comedy gold.

If I were a goth I would give serious consideration to becoming a beach bum for at least four months a year. Then I could spend the winter being wretchedly miserable and alone, whilst looking forward to a summer of near nakedness and sun tans. They have clearly not thought this through.

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