There is a certain energy in the air at the moment. An electricity, a current, a feverishness that could erupt into complete chaos at any given opportunity. It is in the way we savour every neutral-to-positive interaction with a stranger like a particularly decent packet sandwich; it is in the renewed hope and vigour with which we purchase a gin and tonic in a can and march towards the nearest patch of grass; it is in every ray of sunlight that travels across your living room or beams into your office through the one pathetic skylight you share with 150 people, like a kiss on the forehead from Mother Nature. It is summer, but it is also something else.

Perhaps it's because everyone who lives in a country that doesn't experience double-degree weather 365 days a year has given themselves heatstroke at least once already. Perhaps it's because the socio-political landscape at large is so endlessly frustrating that our methods of escapism are becoming increasingly integral to daily life, but, have you noticed how…. lately…. everyone is… horny as heck?

If I had to locate a catalyst, I would say The Energy™ truly unleashed itself a few weeks ago when two people shagged on a Ryanair flight to Ibiza. Not even in the toilet, like average plane sex-havers: in a window seat. Just right there, next to other actual people, half-enthused genitals squashing together with the least amount of movement possible – to preserve dignity, you see – like two bread rolls in a sandwich bag. Then came the new series of Love Island – a reality show that literally involves throwing dozens of horny Brits with fantastic arses into a villa together and urging them to crack on to the tune of 50 grand – swiftly followed by those grainy photos of Rihanna getting fingered (probably) in a pool by her new Saudi billionaire boyfriend.

At some point amid all this, a barrage of statistics were released: The Great British Sex Survey found that 12 percent of Belfast residents would have sex on public transport, 2 percent of Cardiff residents would fuck at a funeral, and when the dating app EVE analysed data of 1.27 million users it found that women are most sexually active during June, July and August. One survey of 2,000 people even managed to pinpoint the date in the calendar year people were most likely to Get It On as 1 July, at 7.37PM, to be precise. All of which came to a head a few days before said date, on Thursday 29 June, when American rock band The Killers chose to release their video for "The Man" and usher in a new erotic dawn.

A flourish on the steamy month of June, a 48-hour precursor to the Official Shaggiest Day Of The Year According To A Survey Of 2,000 People, an absolute fucking belter: "The Man" is The Killers' first new song in five years and their most sexually charged song ever (according to a survey of myself). It is extremely rare that, in the year 2017, I feel compelled to watch a music video more than once. And yet, "The Man" – in which Brandon Flowers bowls about town lifting weights, grilling meat and generally showing off in various states of stereotypically "manly" dress before turning into a bit of a Sad Lad at the end – wiped out my entire week.

I could not, and cannot, stop watching it. The video currently has almost 2 million views and I'm confident I'm only responsible for, like, 76,000 of them tops, so obviously I'm not alone in my enjoyment of it. Putting aside the fact that the song itself sounds like an especially funky LCD Soundsystem cut laced with Bee Gees worship and is clearly amazing: why? Why The Killers? Why "The Man"? And why now? These are questions I have thought about a lot and as a result I have managed to break down "The Man" and it's impact into six key components.