We only get twelve months, but this year feels like there will only be eleven. June has been a complete write-off, with the worst weather in recorded history for the month in the UK, and there are only five days left to go.
Remember when I kept posting blog moans about the rain? How it rained for twenty days and nights, and parts of the country (including my outbuilding) were flooded? How I longed for that glimpse of summer, and some warm days and evenings.
I should have remembered to be careful what I wished for.
A few days ago, it stopped raining. I was so excited, I even posted about that on this blog. Then it started to get warm. In one day, the temperature went up by 10 C, from 15 C to 25 C. I was out in my shorts walking Ollie, actually feeling quite uncomfortably hot.
There wasn’t much sun though, and the grey skies made it feel clammy and humid. So the fan had to be used in the bedroom, as sleeping was hard in temperatures that still felt like daytime. As the sun continued to refuse to appear, and the sky got darker, I had that sinking feeling. Thunderstorms. This was confirmed by the weather forecasters, people who excel at predicting bad weather, but never seem to know when it will be nice instead.
Now we have them. Rain all night, then thunder and lightning this morning, as the rain gets heavier.
June, 2019. Best forgotten.