Yesterday was the warmest day of the year so far, with temperatures in London nudging 23ºC. About time too. But it only takes one sun-drenched weekend for the Great British public to decide that it's summer. It's not, not yet, but that doesn't stop us pretending. How many of the following have you spotted? Big ChiefI Spy would, I'm sure, allow you 10 points for each.
Fleshing it out: Spot pasty arms emerging from t-shirt sleeves, revealing ill-advised tattoos well-hidden during the winter (pierced navels also fall within this category).
Sartorial inelegance: Some people don't suit shorts but they wear them all the same, their paunch spilling out over too-tight elastic, with flabby legs on view beneath.
A load of cobblers: Shudder at the reappearance of the sandal (with or without socks). Surely the devil's own footwear (if only the devil didn't have cloven hooves).
Glass wear: At last there's a genuine reason to be wearing sunglasses, rather than just looking like a fashion victim and accidentally walking into invisible lampposts.
Lawn order: The buzz of a hundred lawnmowers pierces a sunny afternoon, reminding you that your grass probably needs cutting too, rather than you just sunbathing on it.
Charcoal briquettes: That smoke you can see rising from nextdoor's garden is a sign that burnt sausage and charred chops are probably still five hours away.
Alfresco dining: At the first whiff of sunshine, spot those red bloated Britons sitting at the plastic picnic table in their garden picking the flies out of their chicken tikka masala.
Alfresco din: Spot the teenager playing booming house music at great volume, but now with his bedroom window wide open so that the whole street can share.
Pants: Aren't there a lot of red-faced joggers out at the moment? That's the after-effects of the London Marathon for you. They'll all be playing tennis come July.
Open sky: Drivers with a convertible only get to have the roof down for a few months each year, so spot them whizzing by with a fixed grin as the wind buffets their goosepimples.
Deflowered: Tis the season to find your car covered by small flakes of pink blossom, congealed to the windscreen by dripping sap. Convertibles have it much worse, of course.
Green leaves: We're all doomed to eat overpriced salads for the next four months. Might mean us losing some weight too, except they're all smothered in fatty dressing.
Odour, oh dear: It's hard to spot the deodorantless in the winter but, come summer's heat, the raw stench of their armpits glides by like a mobile sewer.
Ultra violent: That sunlight, it's just prematurely ageing your skin and making you more susceptible to skin cancer. I'd stay indoors until the autumn if I were you.