THIS week - at long last - the sun seems to have come out.
But in every silver lining there is a cloud - this time it’s midges.
Because we have been subjected to monsoon-like conditions for the past four months, those tiny critters have been busily multiplying and gestating in stagnant puddles.
I was out jogging at teatime the other day and took my usual route through the park.
A balmy summer’s evening and all was well with the world.
I was aware of a few tiny insects floating like gossamer like on the breeze.
I should have known the score when one flew into my eye and I wiped it into one corner where it flailed between my eyelids.
It must have sent out a distress signal to its mates to attack me mercilessly in revenge.
As I lay in bed it started. I first felt an itch on the back of my head, then another at the other side.
During the night these pumped up into two inflamed weals.
Then I noticed a similar one on my shoulder, one on my calf. And now I’ve got midgebites all over in strategically awkward positions.
How does something so small manage to inflict such misery - and why is it that it only affects certain individuals?
Do they go for people with certain blood types or diets?
I can spray myself as liberally as possible with strong repellant, but they always find a tiny spot which is not covered.
As I write this I am trying to forget them by astrally projecting myself out of my body.
* Can anybody come up with a scientific explanation why it is impossible to wipe the steam off the bathroom cabinet mirror?
Every time I have a hot bath or a shower it proves impossible to make my reflection clear enough to examine the progress cranial midge bites, or to have a post bath shave.
It doesn’t matter if you use a wet facecloth or a dry towel, the misty film persists.
Perhaps the lesson is to complete all-mirror related activities before turning on the hot water?
* Well now the Olympics are over for another four years, we can slip back into the real world.
There’ll be no more pride, modesty and teamwork and heartfelt apologies for just “scraping” a silver medal.
No more “executing” magnificent moves.
Instead maungy and petulant millionaire footballers will moan about pre-season training.
We can go back to our natural default position.
Where we are a worthy but second-rate nation in our favourite chosen sport.
We can go back to Austerity Britain, the land of closing libraries, unemployment and banking scandals.
I can go back to ranting and moaning instead of beaming about how great the world is.
But wasn’t it all fantastic while it lasted?