Ice-free Arctic summers possible by 2100 -“ CNN.

Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Not that I’m surprised. It’s barely October and already we’ve had one 34-degree day. Of course, the rest of the planet is either under water or on fire, so we can’t really complain here in Sydney. And come to think of it, my apartment should be waterfront before I cark it.

This week’s sweltering Monday aside, there are other premature signs of summer all around us. The seasonal hordes of girls in strappy tops and slappy flats are a good indication. En masse, their thong song is like a cicada chorus, punctuated every so often by their mating call, Omigod! Needless to say, they’re out in force.

Speaking of which, I had an early encounter with the Migratory Western Galah. Travelling in small, loud flocks up Oxford Street, they’re distinguished by colourful, custom-built nests, from which they establish their dominance through cries of Fag! and the like. Presumably, these predatory creatures roost at Bondi, although I do entertain the thought that they’re following each other up and over the Gap, like fully sick lemmings.

This encounter happened a few days ago and I was taken aback, not just by the early date, but by the fact they could tell I was gay at all. I didn’t even go to Sleaze! (If Mardi Gras collapses, it’s all my fault.) And there’s another sign of accelerated weather patterns -“ queer party obligation. Normally that doesn’t kick in till December, but for weeks we’ve been threatened with no dessert if we don’t eat our greens (cough up $120).

Summer in Sydney, as so many brochures insist, is all about sex. Well, Mosman police are already cracking down on naked shenanigans at Obelisk Beach. Surely that’s a record. As for the fully clothed among us, teeny weeny footy shorts have come out in droves, revealing a sea of lily-white legs. Personally, I’ve always thought one should wait at least a month after the real footy season has ended before inviting comparison to Sonny Bill Williams.

This incontrovertible proof that global warming is upon us does scare me. I hate summer. The thought that it might extend to six months of the year makes me think drastic action is required. Like banning all vehicles.

Or moving to Hobart.

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