Regular readers may have been (pleasantly) surprised to see that I have not posted one of my weather moans for some time now. Those weary posts about struggling through mud, battered by driving rain or hailstones are a regular feature on this blog, all year round. But there haven’t been any recently, in case you didn’t notice.
Typing in a whisper, hopefully not overheard by the weather gods, I have something very unusual to report. It isn’t raining in Beetley. And it hasn’t rained for quite some time now. In fact, it has been the best summer since we moved here, in 2012, and much of the UK is enjoying similar conditions. Being English, I am reluctant to mention this of course, for fear of jinxing the current dry spell.
The weather forecasters are saying that this could be the hottest and driest summer since 1976. I might even have to think about watering the few plants and herbs we have growing, something I have not needed to do since August 2013. My face and legs are tanned as brown as a berry, and even though I am festooned with an assortment of insect bites, nettle stings, and bramble cuts, I am a very happy blogger. Dry walks with Ollie, warm evenings sitting outside; I was even happy to have to cut the grass again last Thursday.
It hasn’t even been too uncomfortable at night, though I have resorted to using the large bedroom fan since Saturday. Windows open, washing drying on the spinny-thing, and clean fresh air to enjoy in abundance. This is what summer should be like.
I had almost forgotten.