We’re having a running (mock) argument in our house at the moment. W says that summer started about the second week in May. Otherwise Mid-Summer’s Day isn’t mid-summer.
I say poppycock to that! As far as I’m concerned it makes sense that each season has three months. So winter is December, January, and February. Spring is March, April, May. Summer is June, July and August, and autumn is September, October, and November.
Therefore two days ago Summer arrived.
And, more than ever it has made me very happy indeed. The boy is eating all the strawberries in the allotment, one by one as they ripen. The gooseberries aren’t far behind, and the first tiny peas are podding up. I’ve already made rhubarb and ginger jam, and at some point this week (if I get time,) I’m going to make some blackcurrant sorbet one evening, to make room for this years bounty in the freezer, and cool us down at the end of the day.
I keep hearing that we’re going to have a hot summer here in the UK.
I don’t think we’ve had a really hot one since 2003 or 2004 (back when I was still a games designer, and spent a lot of the summer in a [partially] air conditioned office.) That was the year that it got so hot in July that the tarmac started to melt during the Tour de France which resulted in Beloki having a horrendous crash, and Lance Armstrong riding mountain bike style over a rutted field to avoid him. I remember working very long hours, and eating Green and Blacks chocolate ice cream.
In other words – Hurrah! Summer!