The news came suddenly, shattering an otherwise peaceful bank holiday weekend. “Today is London’s last 8pm sunset until 2025”, read a headline in this newspaper. Perhaps because of the awful weather we endured for almost all of July, it felt like a particularly potent punch in the gut. “I actually can’t talk about this,” came the response from one of my friends after I sent her the article. “Why would you send that to me?”
It happens every year, and yet each time the end of summer without fail feels so catastrophic and apocalyptic. And particularly so if you are braving the cold months alone, single in a world that seems, as soon as the leaves begin to turn, suddenly to be full of couples. London, which swells with life during the warmer months, can feel uniquely isolating when winter draws in. And so, as night follows day, hot girl summer is followed by its ominous doppelganger — cuffing season.
