A brief but glorious “summer” came to an abrupt end with the arrival of dark skies, unforgiving blizzards and, most coveted of all, the promise of a Snow Day. Confusion reigned over the general public, whilst the press had a brilliant time, every paper and news channel vying for the best extreme weather story (BBC Breakfast with their man in Aboyne got my vote). At least some were happy.
Not me, as truth be told I know exactly who’s to blame for me sitting here with an oversized jumper and the cetntral heating on: Me. Here’s why.
Reason 1. I stopped thinking it necessary to wear my duffle coat to work and instead dug out the mac i like to save for summer. Far too premature. Even more sinfully, I put said duffle coat into the Winter Clothes section of my wardrobe. Double fail.
Reason 2. I stuffed my woolly hat, scarf and leather gloves to the back of the drawer. Drawing parallels with Reason 1, squirreling these items to the back of the drawer is a definite act of defiance against Winter. Oh how I laugh now.
Reason 3. I started making Grand Plans involving diving and camping and BBQs on the beach, drinking beers in the balmy glow of the setting sun, and possibly even having to invest in some insect repellent. Shite weather doesn’t stop me camping or diving, but this time round I was planning for Sun and no need for North Face to be involved. Mistake.
Reason 4. The heaters in the office have two settings: on with a vengeance or colder than outside, and a switch from one to the other will take a full 48 hours. Brilliant. So I arrived at work on Monday sweating and carrying the aforementioned duffle coat, and couldn’t believe that my room was hotter than the sun. Immediately I shut the furnace down. And now look. Snow.
Reason 5 (eclipses all previous reasons). I forgot I lived in Britain.
So after a tumultuous couple of weeks where I’ve been dressing one day for one season only to see it mid-afternoon turn into another, I am unable to ignore the harsh lesson I have learned: Just because the sky is blue and the sun is burning the earth at a steamy 28 degrees doesn’t mean Summer Is Here.
And don’t think the irony of the hosepipe ban has been lost on me either…