It can’t be helped. Twenty-two years are plenty enough time to build up an image of what summer is supposed to be like. And for me that’s high temperatures and wild winds. Swallowing sea water and dancing in the waves. Long walks under the setting sun and coffee outings that end up to bar visits. Summer is crappy radio signal, family movie nights out on the balcony, fresh figs straight from the tree and fingers sticky from melted ice-cream. And, most importantly, for me summer is feeling the sun on my skin and seeing the world around me through a golden glow. Or at least that’s what summer was.
Fast-forward to now and Yours Truly spending most -if not all- her summer in Nottingham. With its max of 22 C, its on-an-off rains and…well…come on! I could be in a Greek island right now! Does it really bear comparison? Why don’t I fly over you ask? Save us all the inevitable whining? To which I answer, I do want a pretty (preferably above 65%) grade to my thesis. I’m too much of a stereotype I suppose. I physically need sunlight to feel well after a while and of all the givens of childhood an extended summer vacation is the one I’m having more trouble letting go.
So here’s to trying to stay positive and see what a British summer is like. Though, given recent events, England could have the same weather as the Maldives and I would still contemplate not staying. Yes, I’m upset. Yes, I’m scared. And yes, I’m incredibly frustrated. 2016 has been developing like a bad joke, the kind that has a chapter-and-a-half devoted to it in history textbooks and is in the SOS list for final exams. I am not looking forward to telling my future grandkids about the Great Crazy of 2016. And no, the awesome movie line up is not making up for it (no matter how much of a huge nerd I am).
Here I am then. Dazed, confused and far paler than I usually am by the end of June? Any suggestions?