Place in the sun? I prefer my place on the sofa

After all, what can be better than slipping on a pair of shorts, stretching out on a sun lounger and catching some much-needed rays?

Well, I'll tell you what's better than all of that: being curled-up indoors, wearing long sleeves, thick tights, with the telly on and the curtains drawn.

Yes, sorry folks, but my name's Elizabeth and I hate summer.

This most stressful of seasons is dogged by a million and one reasons to be uncheerful – and yet there's more peer pressure piled on to enjoy it than there is to try that first sip of WKD in the park aged 16.

It seems if you don't like flip flops, poppy fields and sun-drenched picnics you're a social stick-in-the-mud. Like Roy Cropper. Only weirder.

Well, I don't like any of those things. I like jumpers, dark nights, stodge instead of salad and as little nature as humanly possible.

I'm also cursed with hayfever, bingo wings and the pastiest of pale skin. I'm a panna cotta person – a wibbly, wobbly, white creation that melts at the first hint of heat.

As you can imagine, none of this adds up to beach babe or sun-dress stunner.

I hate sleeveless tops and stringy straps, I hate blowdrying my hair in 25C heat, I hate the melting make-up, the uneven attempts at fake tan and that grubby feeling as soon as you step outside.

But it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for that darned pressure.

I've come to terms with my obvious failing as a human being, why can't others just accept that I'd rather watch 10 back-to-back episodes of Teen Mom in a dark room than sit in some sticky, sweaty beer garden?

Dads are always the worst offenders here, with their cries of 'come and make the most of this sunshine, I'm not having you cooped up all day'.

Well dads, some of us actually want to be cooped up. In fact, that's my idea of heaven.

Back in the day, Daddy Joyce despaired at the fact his firstborn would rather sit indoors practising her handwriting than ride her dust-gathering bike around the garden. Sorry dad – but look how good my handwriting is now, told you it'd be worth it.

I can cope a little bit more with holidays abroad because you have months to prepare for such terrifying events. There's time to tone up, tan up and buy 14 different sarongs.

It's summer in this country that's so stressful, seeing as it can be cold, dark and windy one day and tropical the next. It's that element of surprise that's the killer. The rest of you seem so well prepared. How do you do it?

No, seriously, do tell.

So, while you'll no doubt be reading this reclined in the garden under a cloudless sky or in a wonderfully warm conservatory, sunshine streaming in, I'll be on the settee, crossing off the days on my calender until I can once again venture outside without becoming a sneezing, sweating, sizzling mess.

I'm sure the rest of you will come to your senses soon enough.

Trust me: this summer fling, it don't mean a thing.

And, woe, those summer nights.