Jumpers for goalposts. Juice and bits. Hide and seek. Hundreds and thousands.
The tender cacophony of the ice cream van as it beckons cheery children from their stately homes, distributing dairy products, heart attacks and nostalgia in equal measure.
The sweet smell of freshly cut grass as it lays strips up and down the fields, and invades the nostrils of your friends as they curse their Hay Fever affliction.
The glorious splendour of the setting sun as it scatters celestial orange light above and beyond what little cloud remains in the sky.
The British summer is a wonderful thing.
But as darkness comes and the sun cowers behind the horizon, the night lurches toward us. With it come all the horrors of the heat.