We all know I love Melbourne more than is sensible for an inaminate object too large to hug, right? That's why I can say the following.

Melbourne's weather is fucked.

I'm not talking about the winter because we've all had enough of cold, blah, chilblains, blah, cold. I'm talking about summer.

In my admittedly very limited experience - so someone with longer residency feel free to tell me to shut up and pull my head in - Melbourne doesn't know how to do a summer properly. It's either hot as the furnaces of hell with no relieving features except corporate air-conditioning, or it's overcast, drizzly and doing its best early-spring impression.

In short, the city is bollocksing up the whole season.

I say this, of course, typing from Gladstone in Queensland, where it's bright and sunny but a nice pleasant thirty degrees with a gorgeous sea breeze. I'm utterly comfortable. A few days ago it was raining all over the place... and a nice pleasant twenty-six degrees. A bit further back at Christmas it was getting rather warm at around thirty-three or -five, but it was still perfectly bearable.

Conclusion: Melbourne's weather stinks. I suppose there has to be something wrong with the place. Other than AFL.