Love Sunshine

Requiescat - English Summer MMVI

Our glorious summer, of which we had such high hopes, and which showed such promise, appears to have given up on us. As I survey the brooding black clouds that have hung over us for nearly 2 weeks now, it but remains for me to scatter some earth on its coffin, and say a few words about what was and what might have been.

Very short and very sweet is the obvious way of characterising it. There was no spring to speak of, but plenty to moan about. It was the wettest May since 1773, and we scarcely saw a glimpse of the sun for about six weeks together. Even those who aren't really big sun fans were complaining about the lack of sun, so, for once, it wasn't just me being impossibly demanding. It was official. The miserable weather got to as far as early June without any sign of relenting, and it looked like this summer was going to join the roll call of shame (along with 2004, 02, 2000) by being monumentally crap.

And then miraculously the clouds cleared, revealing that skies could also come in blue in this country. The sun came out, kept coming out and actually stuck around. For weeks. The temperatures soared, records fell, and we found ourselves enjoying that rare and glorious thing, a 'scorcher'. Or what is merely called a 'summer' elsewhere.

The weather transformed London and the way it went about its life. Buses that were usually full to bursting in the evening rush hour went past nearly empty. People were out making the most of the weather. The atmosphere was palpable. People relaxed, smiled, enjoyed themselves. In short, they lived.

That's what I mourn most, as I look out over the courtyard where two weeks ago I sunbathed and bar b qued with my neighbours: life. Lived to the full. Spontaneously, out of doors, in the heat, and then long into the fragrant night. BBQs or picnic every night. Too hot to sleep. Then why bother. People just hung out on the streets. On weekdays. They just sat on steps of squares, chatting late into the night. Like they do in other countries, and without the need for alcohol. For a few weeks we glimpsed another world, and knew what it must be like to live with a degree of certainty. Not ruled and persistently frustrated by a capricious, vicious, predicably unpredicatable climate.

And just as we were getting used to it, it was snatched untimely from our grasp. It surprised us with its arrival, and has dumbfounded me with its premature departure. I feel cheated, indignant and frustrated. I loved this summer, because of the way it came from nowhere and with such force. And now it has gone. I was looking forward to its slow maturing. Its slipping gracefully into a well-earned autumnal repose. I was speculating on whether I would be able to accept the coming of winter with a bit more equanimity than usual. I believed the hype put about by the media that August was going to continue if not exceed the record-beating efforts of June and July. 'If you think it's hot now', one of them asserted, 'you ain't seen nothing yet'. And I let myself believe them.

Which is why I'll be stuck in grey rainy England for the August bank holiday next weekend. The first time in about 6 years. When the temperatures really soared in July I'd been out of the country. Worse, I'd been in Spain where it was ... I can hardly say it without spitting venom ... where it was cloudy and a bit drizzly the day the records fell in Britain. As August is usually hotter than July I was determined not to get caught out again. Idiot.

And so another week starts under grey, grumpy clouds. With grey grumpy people shuffling back to work. A sense of unfinished business, unfulfilled potential hangs over us. It really feels like summer has gone, autumn will be soon be here, and something truly special has died.