There is nothing greater than seeing the sun out on the first of June. It signifies great things to come.
The sun has been a symbol of the power that produces life – without the sun nothing could grow out of this world without it – we would be a frozen barren lifeless planet. Much like ancient tribal ancestors – when the Northern Hemisphere turns into the summer equinox, everybody comes outside to bask in it’s warmth, to cleanse the senses of the enduring cold that has been biting at you for what seems like an eternity.
The best part of summer is waiting for it. When you come out of the desperate coldness of winter, and into a hopeful spring, you watch the leaves start to bud on your street and you know that it won’t be long now.
I do love winter, there is something wonderful about the encapsulating cosiness of being inside and watching the snowdrifts from the heat of your kitchen whilst sipping a warm tea and stroking your cat on it’s head (he doesn’t know what season it is) For a creature that’s entire existance revolves around being indoors – the only way my cat can tell the difference between summer and winter is that the heaters are turned off. However to a cat a sunbeam is a sunbeam regardless of seasonal differences. The only problem with this year’s summer was that the sunbeams were few and far between.
The first day of summer this year came out with guns blazing. But there is something that no one told me about the London Summer. It doesn’t actually exist…. a week into the summer, and I was still wearing 3 jumpers. Still I waited in anticipation – waiting for that ray of sunshine to leap into, anytime of the day, anything to feel the bliss of warmth on my unadulterated cheeks whilst I turn my face into the sun.
I have always celebrated my birthday in winter – so moving to the Northern Hemisphere has put a whole new spin on ageing another year. For years I would spend my birthdays in the wintry coldness of the Australian Winter. Birthday parties at adventure parks on wet water rides, being saturated and freezing. Many a birthday spent inside whilst the rain poured down outside and my friends didn’t come around becuase the adverse weathter put a dampener on the festivities.
The London Summer I felt would be my rebirth into the world, as a person who goes outside on that annual day of celebration, someone who can wear a pretty dress, and feel the heat of a summer breeze on her legs as she runs through the party streamers.
As June progressed into July, and July progressed into August, and yet I waited for the sun to come out again, inspired by the good omen on the first day of summer, yet no matter how many summery items of clothing I wore around, and Pimms Cocktails I drank on balconies I couldn’t use my voodoo magic to muster the sun from out behind the ever beckoning clouds.
Moist is how I would describe the London Summer that laid out before me. The sun crept through the clouds about many times as I count on my left hand.
The darkness prevailed and what I came to discover is that a London summer is basically the equivalent of the australian winter.
That first day of summer really had me fooled. Yep, London is good at the summertime trickery – it lures you in with the promise of one good summer, then it has the last laugh – when the sun is a distant memory, and leaving the house without a jumper would be ludicrous. Yet for all it’s lacking in sunshine, it is still a city I would rather be cold in year round, and get vitamin D deficiency than be in any other city in the world.