Oh summer, I’m so glad you’re here!
We may not always have seen eye to eye. My uber-pale part Viking skin has not always appreciated the heat and strength of your sun, being faster to burn than a raw chicken leg on a barbecue.
Under your blue blue blue skies I have sweltered, chafed, sweated and been plagued by bastard flies till sundown when the equally-bastard daddy long-legs appears to wibble its protrusions at me.
The ice creams have made me sticky, the sand has made my sandwiches gritty and the sea-whipped wind has bitten deep through the sun-cream to lobster me once more.
Above all, you have made the eating of pies for three whole months a nonsense whilst the eating of salad is somehow obligatory. I do not appreciate the enforced eating of salads. They should always be an optional extra.
But this year? This year I am unequivocally in love with you. I sit on sun-dappled benches with my eyes closed and feel your heat against my skin like welcome fingers. I stare up at that blue and feel the weight of everything lift up into it. I pick strawberries, raspberries, cherries; filling bowls and eating them like sweets. I wander through woods and by streams and through fields of long grasses, listening to them listlessly whisper in the heat.
The weekends have felt like the start of long summer holidays from my childhood: blissfully aimless and drifting.
So come on then; bring your hay fever, your bug bites, your panting-do-nothing middle of the day strength. Bring it on. Because I’m in love with summer and until I can no longer remember what it felt like to be cold*, I’m not letting you leave.
*This may take a while on account of you taking so freaking long to get here.
I will, however, graciously accept the eating of chips on the beach as a replacement for pies. See how good I am to you summer? You’re welcome.