We’ve had such a long and dreary winter this year. And spring was just an interlude – a momentary interruption of winter for just a few days. But, with fingers crossed and touching wood, I do believe summer has arrived. The mercury is doing its best to force its way out the top of thermometers, and much of the British population are doing their best to apply ridiculous red sunburns to their faces and arms. Which they will later view in the mirror at home, contrasting the difference against their Artic white torsos, causing either a little bit of self loathing or a bit of a giggle. Depending upon their outlook on life. I am a giggler.
It is time to make plans for how best to enjoy the hot weather this summer. Heh, I’m kidding. No one makes plans for summer in the UK. Doing so is akin to performing a raindance. The contract that this country has with Mother Nature is cursed with a caveat in the small print which declares that winter reserves the right to return at any moment, with no prior notice required.
In the UK is it best to simply have ideas, which may progress to provisional plans and may then – providing Mother Nature chooses not to activate the winter clause – turn into a last minute rushed dash while the going is good. But even so, a Plan B is an essential part of the British holiday toolkit. Something that is ‘indoorsy’. Because there’s no guarantee that the blazing sunshine at 8am when you jump in the car to depart will not turn out to be torrential downpour by 10am when you arrive.
I will not jinx things by announcing my provisional plans. I think it is safe to mention what I did yesterday. I’m unaware of any ability of Mother Nature to backdate the winter clause. Yesterday we went to Furzey Gardens for a picnic. And a cream tea. Walked off by a stroll through their rather lovely rhodedendrons and azaleas.