In case you hadn’t noticed, today is the 31th of July. Tomorrow it’ll be August, and when August is gone (and I have no doubt that it will speed by) it will be September and Wee Girl will have started school.
It’s the end of an era.
It will also be the end of Summer. Nothing to do then but freewheel on through Autumn and towards Christmas and the biting cold of early Spring, and I will be left wondering, like I am every year, where the bloody hell did Summer go?
When it’s cold outside and you’re cuddled up on the sofa watching rain streak the windows, it’s easy to fantasize about the coming Summer, the trips to the beach every other weekend, barbeques, picnics with hand-raised pork pies, waterfights. Three months packed with fun and frolics, homemade icelollys, vast platters of salads eaten alfresco in the garden. Tapas! Chargrilled squid! Pimms!
Living life, in short, like a Pinterest feed.
But in reality, what inevitably happens is life. The vagarities of the British weather make planning a trip to the seaside fraught. Its cheaper to book in advance, but you never really know what the weather will be like, and if you’re going to the beach, you want to be able to swim, not spend the time shivering on a wind-battered walk on the promenade, eating icecream in the rain and dodging badtempered seagulls.
And as for barbeques… It’s enough hassle with inviting people, setting a day, planning what to cook, getting the house tidy and getting the barbeque set up and lit, and then actually cooking the meat, without all the added pressure of making sure you don’t inadvertantly poison all your guests. Just when was the last time that barbeque was actually cleaned? The last time it was used, of course. A year ago. Then there’s the issue of getting the drunken sods to leave. Don’t they have homes to go to?
They do, of course. But your home has free booze.
Picnics inevitably mean spending an absolute fortune on olives, sunblush tomatoes and hummous, as well as food that the children will actually eat like chicken drumsticks and breadsticks. But it doesn’t really matter what I buy, because Wee Girl will take one look and charge off to the playground without taking so much as a bite. And wasps.
You just know there’ll be fucking wasps. Whatever patronising bastard said all you have to do is stand still and they’ll go away, he was talking out on an orifice other than his mouth. It never works.
Why do we do it to ourselves? Summer has its moments but the reality is that it’s usually either too hot or not hot enough. It makes us sweat and burn and wilt like fragile plants. It forces me to wear the same maxi summer dress repeatedly because it’s the only one that covers the legs I do not have time to shave and I can’t find any others that I like.
And even so, despite all the sweat and stress and sweltering heat, when Summer’s gone I’ll miss it and start looking forward to the next one. Wee Girl will have her first proper school Summer holidays. We’ll really have fun then.
In the meantime though, is anyone else starting to get excited about Christmas?