No, really, this is a bit much. I take the weather as I find it normally, but the temperature has taken quite a dip in the past week and now I’m back in jeans and jumpers. At least June was warm and wet. I really rather wish I was back in Corfu.
It’s a funny thing, and I’m very lucky, that my tolerance for heat has actually got better over the years. My mother was the opposite and suffered both in the heat and the cold. It was quite irritating, I have to say, when a lovely summer’s day led to grumbles from her over the awful weather. She could never say “I don’t like this weather,” it had to be that the weather was faulty and everyone else should feel the same about it. So I suppose I shouldn’t say that a cold, wet July is bad in itself. Just that I’m not enjoying it at all. The only good thing is that we haven’t had to water the garden at all this year, or not since I planted out the new flower bed, anyway. And I only bother to say that because I have a great need to find a positive spin to everything.
Back in my teenage years, I developed a sort of allergy to sunshine. I had to be very careful and spend only a short time with my arms uncovered until I’d become acclimatised or else I’d get a rash, a sort of prickly heat thing. This was no great fun at all and quite unattractive, but luckily it only lasted for a few years and I have never had it since. Mind you, I’ve never had much of a suntan in my life. I get back from a holiday – “oh,” people say, “you’re not very brown.” It’s true, I don’t go brown. And I have to head for the shade anyway after a few minutes because otherwise I burn. But I love the heat of the sun. And I love snow. A cold, wet July, not so much.