Tuesday 17 July 2012


An article caught my eye today partly due to its hysterical and futile hopefulness, and partly because at this point the mere word ‘summer’ makes me bolt to attention – and then start praying with every bone of my unreligious body for a glimpse of this rare and splendid season. We deprived folk are very very desperate.

The headline stated that Britain may in fact have a ‘real summer’ heading its way. Sorry, I have to collect myself as I’m laughing too hard, actually, correction - weeping real tears into the puddle of rain that has been sitting at my feet since April! Yes, it is now July 17th (the King’s birthday btw, wooo hooooo) and they are just informing us that we may have a real summer coming our way next week. Um, note to meteorologists and journalists everywhere…in fact, make this a wide, ‘memo to all;’a summer that begins in mid July and may last around a week if one is lucky is not a real summer. That is a prescription for mood elevators. Yes, I’m dramatic, and yes, I am very sensitive to the weather, especially if it’s chronically disgusting and has been raining since the dawn of time. But I think I can speak for Brits all over this rain soaked country and say that we more than earn a summer. In fact, we deserve a summer in the worst way possible. And as of yet there has been no sign of one anywhere. 

Fine, I can be hopeful and positive – although that is not the English way and as this is my home, well, you fill in the blanks. I can tell myself that by next week when the sun decides to grace us with its presence I can erase the past, embrace the heat and whip out my tank top like it’s Fort Lauderdale. But anyone that knows me knows that I will still be a tad resentful of the fact that the park near our house resembles Shrek’s swamp due to water saturation and I'm contemplating hitting a tanning bed just to feel some heat on my body.

Fine, you move to England you get what it says on the box…um, in this case I’m thinking the box says ‘perpetual crap weather, so don’t hope for anything else.’ But the problem is, we got spoiled in years past. England pulled a fast one and stopped raining every week. In fact, barring this Spring/Summer – for lack of a better way to describe it – the weather has been relatively dry and I can’t remember the last time we had constant weeks of rain. Cold as the tundra during winter, but dry; and that is a fine shade better than cold and wet, I assure you.

So for now, I sit and wait…and hope. I mean hope against all hope that next week our summer will begin. At the moment, I’ll take warm gray haze over blazing sunshine. In fact, just give me haze as long as there is no water involved. You see, I’m not picky, just utterly desperate. And yes, like any good Englishman, I can talk about the weather at length. In fact at the border that is one of their questions before they grant you a visa: can you talk about the weather, banter like a pro, and handle abrasive wit without bursting into tears? If you answer yes to any of the above they might just let you enter the wettest country in the world.

Happy Tuesday.

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