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.
The British calendar can be a complicated affair sometimes. Sure, some holiday dates are fixed. Christmas Day and Bonfire night, for example, are always on the 25th December and 5th November. Other dates are fixed-ish. May Day is rarely on 1st May, unlike pretty much everywhere else in the world, but as it is always on the first Monday in May. It’s not too hard to work out. Then there are the variable date holidays. Easter falls sometime Continue reading
All good things come to those who wait. Us Brits have been waiting for an awfully long time. And now all our summer dreams have come true in one glorious sun baked season. We’ve waited patiently for some sun, enduring several years of all the typically grey, wet and miserable weather than the gods could throw at us. Our patience has been rewarded. It’s been in the low thirties for weeks, and everyone is mighty cheerful for it. We’ve been barbecuing on the beach, sitting in the garden and basking in the smokers spot outside the office. Non smokers are missing out this week.
The British disposition is not always sunny, but I am in no doubt it is entirely measurable, with every degree increase bringing even the most stoical, dour, emotionless Brit closer to breaking into a smile. It the sun weren’t enough, then Andy Murray’s glorious triumph at Wimbledon topped things off nicely. More than seventy years we’ve waited for that.
Tonight, Chris Froome will saunter into Paris to win the Tour de France. Ok, so Sir Wiggins broke our duck in that event last year. But for Brits to win two consecutive Tours, back to back, having never won it before. Wunderbar. As I write, England are putting the old cricketing enemy, Australia, to the sword. A right sound thrashing is being administered in the Second Test. The Aussie batsmen, chasing an impossibly gargantuan score, are tumbling like proverbial dominos. Somewhere at Lords, a plus sized lady* is clearing her throat…
To top it all off, I have found a new beverage. I’m not much of a drinker of alcohol. But no one likes to be the odd one out. So how nice to find a beer I enjoy. Admittedly, at 2%, it’s a bit of a lady beer*. But it’s most refreshing. Life is sweet. Who would want to move to the chilly hills of Mexico City today?! Not I. Not today…
** Meh. Who needs political correctness.