Is it, could it be, do I sniff Spring in the air?
I may be getting ahead of myself here. It is only March and quite frankly it is freezing. And it has been known to snow in April. But I am champing at the bit for Spring to be sprung already.
Spring in the UK is lovely with all the little flowers everywhere. The weather goes a bit mental but wait what am I saying.
The people go a bit mental too. I know I do. The promise of sun drives us into a frenzy. It is the time when I strip down to a few mere layers, and it is the time when the locals strip down to their underwear and lie around in parks. In their jocks. Strue.
The main reason it drives us into a frenzy though, is because of what it promises. After Spring comes... Summer. With looong days and barbecues and pink necks and even more underwear on show. Right?
-Insert jaded laughter here-
I think not. There was a Summer once. They talk about it often. In fact I think I have become British because I talk about it often too. That Summer of 2003. The year I stepped fresh off the plane.
My dear BFG, a seasoned traveller who was staying in Cape Town to finish his Masters, had told me, the greenhorn, not to pack any short sleeved tops because I would never get to use them. I arrived to a month of 30 plus degrees, armed only with my concept of hardcore winter gear. I am from Durban, so this was not in any way useful in an actual winter, but neither was it any use in a sweltering heatwave.
But since that wondrous time, summer has not put in an appearance. Yet each year at spring time, there is still an excited buzz in the air. Maybe this year it will be different. Maybe this year we will have "the hottest summer for 1.35 years" or whatever.
I am already lining up all the summer camping trips I want to do this year to some beautiful places (Norfolk, Northumberland, Scotland, North Wales, Lake District, and my favourite, Cornwall, if these names mean anything to anyone).
I keep feeling like I won't be here many more years. Of course I may end up as a full card carrying Brit and never leave. But I think it is not a bad idea to treat each summer as if it is my last and to try and do as much as possible.
I need the sun badly. Each year the winter gets tougher for me. This one has been a killer, except for the beautiful snow.
Please, this year, let it not be "oh there was quite a nice week in May, remember?" Please let there be more than "one nice week".
Dare I even dream? Let there be two.
