I woke up very early this morning, disturbed by the sound of gale-force winds, and the rain lashing against the bedroom windows. It took me a while to get back to sleep, but I managed it.
I didn’t surface again until almost 10 am, and might just as well have stayed in bed.
I know it’s not unusual to have rain here in June. Everyone knows that the weather in this month was just as awful as long ago as 1944, so no great surprise. And for those of you used to my seven years of weather moans, you will remember many June posts lamenting the absence of a summer in Beetley.
But this is torrential rain, and it has lasted for almost eighteen hours now. The addition of strong winds arriving yesterday increased the noise, and debris from the Oak trees is scattered all around the property. The chimney of the wood-burner is creaking as if it is about to tear away from its mountings, and various local dogs are barking at rattling gates and fences. The sky is best described as ‘threatening’, and the forecast is for more of the same, for the next eight days.
And it is cold. Yes, cold. And in June. Cold enough to put the heating on, but I flatly refuse to do that. Cold enough to mean that my shorts will have to be put away again, and Wellington Boots needed to replace more comfortable footwear. Midsummer’s Day is the 21st of June, so we don’t have long left before the evenings already begin to get darker. But it is 11:30 in the morning, and already dark enough to have lights on around the house.
I don’t ask for much, I really don’t. (OK, I know you think I do…)
But can we just have some summer, please?