As Britain melts under an amber heat alert, the government's bold plan to re-enter the single market appears to be wilting faster than a Bank Holiday weekend sunbather, whilst France suspends border checks at Dover simply because processing people in the heat is far too much like hard work. In a desperate bid to escape the sweltering reality, the King sought solace in a Shakespearean tragedy, which is arguably still cheerier than the news that people are now begging plastic surgeons to give them faces generated by algorithms that have never seen a real human being. It seems the only things truly thriving in this heatwave are our collective delusions, whether that's the belief that an 'AI face' is a sensible aesthetic choice or that buying shares in a new Brewdog scheme constitutes sound financial planning.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
Amber alerts for the Midlands heat
The tarmac's soft beneath your feet
A sweaty trudge on the daily way
While warnings bloom in the middle of the day
The radio crackles with the same old song
It's too damn hot and the queue's too long
[Spoken] Business as usual, then.
[Chorus]
It's the melting point of the modern age
We're sweating out the blind rage
Glitter on the pavement, dub in the bone
Everybody's melting, all alone
Melting point, and we're feeling fine
Just waiting for the warning sign
[Verse 2]
Down at Dover, the tempers fray
France has waved the checks away
Too hot to stand in a passport queue
Some proper British breakthrough, through and through
The suits in London float a goods deal bright
Met with scepticism in the blinding white light
Progress is lukewarm, the mercury's not
We voted for sun, look what we've got
[Chorus]
It's the melting point of the modern age
We're sweating out the blind rage
Glitter on the pavement, dub in the bone
Everybody's melting, all alone
Melting point, and we're feeling fine
Just waiting for the warning sign
[Bridge]
The King finds shade in The Tempest's art
A bit of Shakespeare for a heavy heart
At Hay they're praying the books might save
While wellness cults dig an early grave
A Game of Thrones star tells her tale
Of meaning found on a cushioned fail
And in the clinics, the surgeons despair
At AI faces with nobody there
Impossible cheekbones, silicon dreams
Computers designing the human memes
[Verse 3]
An e-scooter crashes by the Palace gates
A copper down, and the system waits
A slapstick moment on a grim concrete stage
The chaotic modern streetscape rage
And divers die in a Maldives cave
No training needed for a watery grave
While Brewdog's founder buys another round
For investors watching it burn to the ground
[Guitar Solo]
[Chorus]
It's the melting point of the modern age
We're sweating out the blind rage
Glitter on the pavement, dub in the bone
Everybody's melting, all alone
Melting point, and we're feeling fine
Just waiting for the warning sign
[Outro]
[Whisper] High stakes, high temperatures, high farce
The mercury rises and nothing works
[Spoken] Enjoy your Bank Holiday.
[Fade with dub bass and handclaps]