Today I’ve spent 3 hours with my hands in a sink washing up after a neighbor’s garden party; out of the window I could see the sky turn from blue to charcoal before a downpour came. I’m afraid summer is over, but that’s okay…
The days are getting shorter, the air is getting colder and the oil bill is about to triple. This blog post is in memory of that incredible British summer- of which I wasn’t really here for- written on behalf of the UK. (You’re welcome).
The summer of 2013 started with much doubt; like every other summer it would probably be shit and I hoped it would be because no one likes to be on holiday with great weather back at home. No, Britain had heatwaves and I missed them.
As sad as it is to miss this once in a decade phenomenon, missing out on the wife-beaters and hotpants sported by guys is not something I felt the need to cry about. I’d say I had a lucky escape. Other than that, Britain did summer well, or summer did Britain well and, speaking to family and friends back home there was a clear gratitude behind the heat complaints.
My summer in the UK meant ‘farewell’ BBQ’s, beer gardens, taking photos of myself in wing mirrors and getting drunk on cheap wine. It was pretty perfect.
I even wore shorts for non-pulling purposes and the sun glasses were used to protect my eyes rather than making me look like a posh douche from ‘Made In Chelsea’. Crazy. Admist these new trends a wonderful summer was happening and making everyone very happy, I mean the weather is something everyone has in common.
So raise your cheap Tesco’s wine to the summer of 2013, one that will probably try to make a comeback in December but refuse to cooperate in July. For now, you did not disappoint.