See Brooklyn, miss Tramlines?

UGC Columnist Anouchka Santella
UGC Columnist Anouchka Santella
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Sheffield in the summertime is my favourite thing ever. You can have picnics in every park, barbecues in every garden, cocktails in every beer garden.

And I’m going to miss all of it. These are my last weeks before leaving for A MONTH AND A HALF. I’m not sure I can cope.

I have no right to complain since I’ll be in America for three weeks, being a cool kid in Brooklyn, a nerd in the Harry Potter theme park, a tanned-smoothie-drinker in Los Angeles and a band-stalker in San Francisco, but still.

TRAMLINES. I’m going to miss Tramlines! I won’t see the city become a festival, look at my friends getting drunk all day, smell puke in the air, queue for an hour to get into bars.

Gutted!

The longest I’ve been away from Sheffield since I’ve moved here was five days and I couldn’t help but wonder what my friends were up to and what the weather was like and what was happening in the Gatsby.

A month and a half away could ruin my life. What if guys I fancy find girlfriends? Or if a new French girl meets my friends and they realise she’s cooler than me AND has a better accent?

I’m not going to miss English people’s reaction to the heat though. France is no Miami but we do hit 35C easily in the summer. Most people complain about it, but they’ve got their reasons; pollution makes the air unbreathable, the tube becomes a sweat fest and girls’ tightless legs are the centre of attention. We all hate it, but we’re used to it.

Which makes it pretty fun to see English people walking around shirtless exhibiting their red torsos, saying they need all the water in the world because it’s 27C. They’re freaking out when the sun’s out and put all the protection they can find on their pale skins while I keep my jumper on because I think it’s still a bit chilly. They put the air con on max and so much ice in your glass that you can’t taste your drink.

I’m as confused by this as I am when I see T-shirts and shorts in November.

That said, I love English people and I’m going to miss hearing them complaining all summer. Or maybe I’ll be too busy eating bagels chasing Dobby and trying to meet Hugh Hefner.