SUMMER SUMMER SUMMERTIME
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.