Now Wimbledon and the Edinburgh Festival have gone there’s nothing left of the summer. This is the excitement we’ll miss…
In the Euro football tournament, Raheem Sterling would have broken both legs when the England players staged a jousting tournament to relax the day before the first game.
But public pressure would have led to Gareth Southgate including him in the squad.
Sterling would be in a midfield holding role, wheeled around on a tea trolley by Marcus Rashford. We’d still get to the first knockout stage, but lose on penalties to Portugal, when Harry Kane’s penalty was disallowed because it went to VAR, which decided he was French.
At Glastonbury, in the tradition of headliners being older stars such as Dolly Parton and Paul McCartney, top of the bill would have been the Queen performing a grime version of the national anthem, with guest star Stormzy.
She’d surprise the crowd with an improvised chorus: “My crown jewels sparkle, my blood line’s patriarchal, but ma rude boy Harry’s gone wid his b***h Meghan Markle.”
The Olympics would have begun with traditional massive anticipation for our big hopes.
Then we’d hear the commentator say: “And so, it’s Davidson in lane five, for Great Britain.
And they’re away first time and it’s a great start from Davidson, wonderful stride from Davidson, Davidson still running well and as they come to the line it’s DAVIDSON in sixth place, the winner’s some African bloke then a couple of Swedes but WHAT A RUN FROM DAVIDSON.”
Eurovision would have been won by a Finnish grunge band called Satanic Death Cult, with their catchy melody I’m Losing it for Lucifer.
But an appeal would have been lodged after the drummer summonsed the Devil, who took away the Greek judge’s soul for awarding them nil points.
My beloved Andy Murray would have worked 22 hours a day to be fit enough for Wimbledon after his latest hip operation.
But he’d have found there was a mistake in his surgery, and he’d been given one of the hips the Queen Mother had removed 20 years ago but was still lying around.
All the awards at the Edinburgh Festival would have gone to Jeremy Corbyn and Kenneth Clarke, with their show recreating the Brexit negotiations through interpretive dance.
Clarke lifting Corbyn above his head in a green and orange skirt, to portray the Irish backstop, would be called “profoundly moving” in the Daily Telegraph.
But never mind.
Instead, by August we’ll be watching the World Window-Cleaning Championships on Sky Sports 1, between eight finalists in their own house, as the commentator shrieks: “Oh my word the Brazilian has left a smear in the top corner”.
And we’ll be glad of it, as it’s all we’ll have.
