This is what early Sunday morning looked like:
Can I remind the weather that it is actually mid-March and we’re rather expecting spring anytime now?
Back on go the thermals, which is slightly inconvenient because my legs have decided that they’re now ‘allergic’ to them.
I can’t believe that this was three months ago already, this week we’re going back to the hospital for another check up. The appointment is, of course, not mine, I’m just the navigator. But I’ve got to meet and make friends with two lovely people, friends of a good friend of mine, and we had a lovely day out at the same time. (My good friend is the driver. It does take four adults to go to a hospital appointment).
It was a city that we’d never visited before, Portsmouth, but my good friend is always one for an adventure and an explore so this is our wander on a bitterly cold winter’s afternoon:
This time last year, we country bumpkins got to gallivant in the Big Smoke, otherwise known as London. The weather was, of course, abysmal most of the day but you can be sure that didn’t stop me from taking photos!
Want to take a walk around the city as pictured through a rather idiosyncratic lens?
I don’t much trust weather forecasts, maybe because I am something of a sceptic when it comes to Science, it seems that Science has pretty much become the religion of the day with us mere mortals putting blind faith into the whims and translations and perspectives of Scientists. I do not naturally go along with the crowd; I challenge things and form my own conclusions and beliefs. I find it hard to be infatuated, blind to faults and mistakes, and Science has known a fair few of these. And rarely admits to them. And there’s another reason for me to be uncomfortable, untrusting of Science and its god-like Scientists, it is their attitude. I don’t like the smug, the self-righteous in any walk of life, I don’t like people who reject what has gone before as if it no longer has any value or interest, I don’t have a high opinion of people who claim that their own personal belief system is the only belief system possible and that all men should follow their creed. I have my beliefs and I respect you to have yours, please respect mine. Science and its Scientists have an increasing tendency to look down sneeringly at us mere mortals, especially those of us who stubbornly remain outside of their flock and question them. We are weak, unintelligent and just plain ignorant and stupid. I don’t do well with being told that I’m stupid. I’m likely to play up.
There is one area of Science that I have virtually no credence in: weather forecasting. They claim that they are much more accurate these days, using satellite pictures to trace cloud patterns before they even reach a particular area but they aren’t infallible. I wait to see what cloud I have over my own head before analysing weather possibilities, clouds don’t always behave in the way Scientists would like them to. Or when. And despite all the technology and Scientific Jargon, nothing much has really changed. It is still the ancient art of reading the sky, of casting one’s eyes heavenwards to pick out signs and stories that may tell the future.
I am sceptical because I know that clouds, and indeed any other parts of weather systems, are idiosyncratic, much like me. They don’t tend to behave in socially acceptable predictable ways; they can build or diminish, burn out or gather energy. It is still the clouds that are our fore bringers of the future, something that is deeply imbedded into our idiomatic language. We talk of gathering storms and country folk still know the value of signs such as red sunsets or sunrises, St Swithin’s Day and mackerel sky. We know our local winds and what they mean for us in each season. What more does Science really offer? A pretty picture, something to discuss and debate, something to guarantee viewing figures all the way through the news?
But admittedly the world is not as reliable as it used to be, our seasons fluctuate according to some unknown whim and the future a week ahead is less predictable even than that tricky predictive text, one letter out and the whole message can be read entirely wrong.
Weather forecasting is still a matter of decoding and waiting to see.
And when they predict weather events of abnormal intensity and scale then well, it’s wise to be a little sceptical. Why panic buy when the shops will still be open come what may and when any wise household keeps a reserve of at least dry goods in the winter? Why anticipate when each day is enough and has its own unique challenges?
But they got it right today. The snow came in hard with a storm wind last night and it looks like it’s planning to stick around.
I sent my envoy out with a camera, having made a wise decision that the best place for me was safely indoors where the temperature at least promised to climb above ten degrees.
It’s funny how snow completely changes the world; it becomes an enticing, magical place once those flimsy flakes settle and cover and it definitely brings out the child in many. (There is currently a group of twenty-year-old (at least) lads loitering outside their building who have nobly taken on the task of assaulting every vehicle and pedestrian that goes passed with snowballs). But it is the stillness, the quiet that makes a snow day a very different day from the mundane. It is as if the world has held its breath, wondering and waiting.
It probably seems a little strange that advice when you consider that I, and this blog, are all for psychological advancement. Life can be richer for either when to dip one’s toe into new waters or to take an entire plunge into them. It seems that our feet are kept busy metaphorically throughout life’s journey, a path that we walk leaving footprints for future generations to trace and there’s quite a lot of water too. Water is a powerful metaphor, as powerful as real life water can be, etching a channel through solid rock at times. Water can be destructive however and I don’t think any of us would want our psychological, metaphorical water to be like of a torrent after heavy rain and a serious snow melt. Yet we relish the calm of pools on summer days and enjoy the babbling of a brook. I know I babble.
It’s funny how in this modern germ-paranoid world we are so health conscious, albeit often in a faddish way, but yet we forget and neglect the basic principles of looking after ourselves. Maybe we put too much faith in wonder pills rather than letting the healing and recovery process take its own time, we live in a world of instant gratification after all, leading far too busy and complex lives to allow ourselves the luxury of time to, first, be ill then second, to recover from it properly.
In a not so distant past, ‘convalescence’ was a word that you heard often. I can’t remember the last time I met it in the modern world, have I at all? Possibly not. Illness came in two stages. There was the illness and then the recovery. You took the necessary time that your body required to recover. You didn’t rush it. You built your strength. You ate good food. You found clean air. (Although those two were probably the preserve of the wealthy).
I don’t recommend beef tea, not that I’ve ever tried it, but I do know someone who drinks a well-known brand of gravy powder. (It’s not my husband, he doesn’t know that it’s possible to drink the stuff by the mugful and I’m not telling him either). But do we really look after ourselves anymore?
I’m usually well aware of what can trigger ill health; for example I use copious amounts of hand gel during a cold or cough, I keep my feet, hands and head warm as a matter of course, I try to eat a balanced diet. But I slipped up last week.
I had washing out on the line. (I once again, fortunately, have the strength to hang it up, and all in one go too). It decided to chuck it. Now, usually, we don’t have to rush the washing rescue too much because our balcony is roofed. (Yes, I do believe that rain water contaminates the washing. So does night air. No, I’m not weird or a freak. Just idiosyncratic). This time, the rain was coming in. Hard. It was proper owie rain. It hurt. And I was having to dash around trying to liberate washing from pegs, never mind pegs from lines. Fast. Which didn’t help my coordination. I was dressed suitably for being inside. I was soaked.
Now what should one do when one is soaked to the skin?
That’s right. Not sit around in the wet clothes and wait for them to dry.
Guess what I did?
Late that evening I had a twingy throat. This a warning sign. It’s not a good warning sign. I took to salt water, generously salty and vile. Then I turned to mouthwash, there’s a medicated one on the side at the moment. (I want another glass bottle). But it didn’t go away. And as I was sat there, probably knitting, I realised what the matter was.
I had been very stupid.
So I poured myself some vodka in the hope that would kill anything.
(I’ve been gifted a bottle of that grass vodka but it’s still a little coarse these days. I’ve decided that I prefer rum, which of course, I don’t have any of).
Nope.
The tri-fold ‘cure’ was repeated a couple of times over the next few days but it was too late. Something like bolting doors after horses flee or something.
It became a nasty head cold.
I didn’t quarantine myself because I knew I hadn’t got it from contagion but from folly. (And that’s another old-fashioned procedure which you don’t hear much of anymore, unfortunately). I called it a ‘chill’, another old-fashioned name, which husband doesn’t quite appreciate. A cold is a cold to him. But I am pedantic.
I felt quite wretched at times. If not, cross at my stupidity.
I am now recovering but it has, of course, gone to my chest. Everything goes to my chest. So I’ve consumed half a bottle of cough medicine in the last few days in the hopes of some respite.
Never get your feet wet. A golden rule of healthcare.
Or any of the rest of you.
Always change out of wet clothes.
Otherwise you will end up with a ‘chill’.
You can catch your death of cold too, you know.
There is one thing that I really detest, it utterly does my swede. Inaccuracy. In this modern age of science, there’s been plenty of research done into the faults or weaknesses of eyewitness testimony and I suppose that is the reason that one of the oldest law codes insists upon at least two or three witnesses to a case. You can correlate the points of similarity, or even better, the identical ones, and build a full picture. It’s an interesting issue though even in everyday life. Do you trust the word of your fellow man, whether it’s a friend recounting a funny story or a sibling dobbing in another for messing with the celebration cake? And if you don’t, where are you left?
I grew up in a family of four neatly divided down the middle by those who remember and those who don’t. Two of us had a tendency to photographic memory and could easily establish a timeline for whatever event you cared to have recalled. I won’t boast nor admit where I stood in this division but I have had at times earnt the moniker of a well known brand of diary/organiser and worked my way through exam papers by ‘reading’ pages of textbooks by memory. (Sadly my memory is being destroyed by that beast ME and I’ve currently been left with a black hole for most of the first part of this year).
I take good memory as given, for granted. I was therefore surprised when a friend and I had an interesting encounter with a stranger on the street and five minutes later, when she was regaling some other friends we met up with the tale, she told quite a different version to my own, details such as age etc were vague and inaccurate and they couldn’t even paraphrase the conversation. I was very surprised.
One of the areas that I meet the greatest inaccuracy in is weather. Now, admittedly, weather is something of a personal taste, even of an opinion and what is hot in one region is another region’s cold but why can’t people accept the basic facts? I see it most in the summertime. People write off summers very easily, too cold, to wet and quickly it becomes that we have had no summer at all.
This frustrates me. Even in a summer of fierce storms we have had some stonkingly hot days, some more pleasant than others when the humidity soared to a greater percentage than if it had rained. Some days have been bogged down by grey skies but it still was warm. So why do people insist that it’s cold? We went out for a day at the beginning of the summer, we were sitting outside unfortunately in a vicious gale force. There was definitely wind chill. You will always feel some chill when outside in such a storm with no shelter. That’s a fact. However, it wasn’t raining (surprisingly because despite my calls for accuracy, I am not the hugest supporter of an optimistic summer forecast) and of the few showers we had, there was definitely hosepipe rain for at least one. (I will discuss this highly scientific term another day). From my own experience, hosepipe rain only occurs in temperatures of fifteen degrees plus, probably at least sixteen or seventeen actually. That’s not cold. Not by summer standards in this country. So why did people persist in calling the day ‘freezing’? (Again, as something of a pedant, I would define ‘freezing’ as zero or below). It wasn’t bad. We’ve all known a lot worse. All I ask is that people stick to such expressions as ‘I feel cold/freezing’ or ‘it feels cold/freezing (to me)’.
I don’t trust people’s opinion of temperature. I know this from personal experience. We went on holiday once, overseas, but for reasons that I’m not entirely sure of, we had a thermometer with us. It proved very revealing. The first week was hot, pretty hot. The second week was ‘freezing’. Really? Well, the thermometer told a different story. The second week was in the mid seventies, the right temperature, or even a little higher, for late spring where we were staying. So what was the issue? Well, that first week had been a record heatwave with temperatures in the mid eighties and we therefore experienced a ten degree temperature drop. On average in this country, ten degrees is the difference between summer and winter. A ten degree drop will feel considerably colder, however high that second temperature actually is. Ask any camper.
I have to say though that September has felt decidedly chilly this year. We have a tendency to ‘Indian Summers’ but this time it feels more like November. A damp chill to the air most morning and evenings which sometimes lingers most of the day too. Not at all pleasant. It is grey and we’ve had some pretty heavy rain and my thoughts turn winter-wards as I regretfully have to put on a jumper and socks.
It isn’t quite winter yet, the indoor temperature is still holding eighteen or nineteen degrees and I’m quite sure that the damp and psychological factors are having the biggest part to play in my opinion of the weather.
I have watched the darkening evenings throughout August with a sense of foreboding, my mood dipping with the light levels as well as the lack of medication. I need light, I like warmth. I don’t like winter, I dread it’s coming. For some people, the autumn is a season of promise and new beginnings, they relish the change in clothes and diet, anticipate the garden’s harvest and delight in the seasonal colours. I am not one of those people. Autumn is just a red flag signalling impending doom. Increased pain, increased layers, increased hassle. No, I’m not a fan of winter.
Summer has seemed so short too this year. I know that we’ve had good spells in the weather since at least May but I feel that I’ve missed a lot of it, stuck in bed or cooped up in the sitting room. I’m just getting back on my feet in time for colds and lurgis, damp and wet, cold and icy. It doesn’t seem fair somehow.
And it’s coming in hard and fast this year. Ask my knees, they’re predicting a dire season this year. I’ve asked my scout about the berries but it’s mainly too early whilst others have been lost entirely with the wet and wind of the summer’s storms so it’s hard to see what their forecast is. But September hasn’t been pleasant, socks and slippers have already had to be found.
I find myself missing summer, wishing that I could turn back time and live this one over with a little more energy and a little more appreciation.
Related Articles
A little bit of sunshine, however small, is always an excuse (or maybe a motivation?) to get some washing done and out. I’m feeling such a lot better physically that I’m starting to dream of all sorts of wonderful things that I could get done but seeing as I had to put today’s (small) load out on the line in three shifts, I’m forced to accept that I must still be realistic. It’ll be small steps. One step at a step. But I’ll get there. Hopefully. I was beginning to worry actually.
As you already know, I wear a Western hat. In summer, I wear a straw version. This is more of a traditional shape than my black felt one and the long brim takes a bit of getting used to. And the rustle can be very loud in my ‘ears‘ too! I like a sensible, shady hat in the sun.
This is my first pair of adult sunglasses that I got a few months back. Back when I first wore glasses in my pre-teen days, I had a giant pair of pink plastic sunglasses (you know the ones, with the thick black plastic lenses) that I wore stylishly over the top of my oversized multicoloured splattered plastic glasses. I’m glad that eyewear fashion has moved on considerably since then! When I started wearing contact lenses a few years ago, I realised that I could now finally wear sunglasses (never mind fashion, they have their uses). I couldn’t find any to fit. Much like normal glasses frames actually. So I’ve had a couple of children’s plastic sporty style frames but they’ve never fit very well, they kind of assume that children’s heads are totally spherical so the glasses have a very pronounced curve and they also seem to think that children’s noses are ridiculously skinny so they never sit on my bridge properly. Well, I don’t think I have a fat nose. (Paranoid thinking starts here). Of course, wherever I go, my knitting comes too. (I’ll show you what I’ve been working on another day, I promise). I enjoy sitting outside in the sun (as long as my head is covered) so I load up my chair with my latest knitting project (the cup holder is very handy for yarn balls) and get my Vitamin D top up.
You’ve got to make the most of the sunshine.
When this week’s Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop prompt asked us to describe our perfect summer, I have to say that I stumbled. It’s the word ‘perfect’ that I have the biggest problem with; I know that perfection isn’t possible. If it’s not possible, why even bother to aspire for it? And Life being what it is at the moment, well, most days are just about surviving. It also made me think of Trifecta’s normal prompt this week. Normal seems to be something that other people are perfect at. Perfect summers exist in that elusive normal world which is just one semi-detached house, manicured lawn and fancy car away from our own world. My world, that is, even if I can’t speak for yours.
But I miss summer. Summer is something that I’ve never quite been on the easiest of terms with. Summer was something that just happened, a convenient name for the long divide between two terms of school, a hanging around and waiting for the world to start again. In most of the recent years, the summer weather has fallen in April and while July and August can be warm, they’re always grey or wet. Not exactly inspiring weather conditions. Then, these last few years, we haven’t had transport. We can’t go for days out in the countryside or pop to the beach whenever the sun comes out from behind a cloud. It feels a little like we’re missing out on summer.
Slowly, I realised that perhaps I do hold a stereotype of the perfect summer, it’s somewhat disillusioning because I know it can never be attained, I’ll never be able to get all of these variables under control at once. It’s a dream, a fantasy. The perfect summer will always stay in that perfect world where normal people apparently live. Because in the real world there is always work or family commitments that don’t allow you to skip off and enjoy the one day of summer that may suddenly appear, there are financial pressures and a complete lack of a summer wardrobe and all the billion and one little stresses and worries which don’t really leave even if the sun does come out.
Here is my perfect summer:
The Weather
In this perfect summer of mine, I won’t settle for the odd sunny day and warm weather. Oh no, I want a whole season of summer. A reliable period of warmth and sunshine where you can actually get used to the concept before the clouds appear again. And the raindrops. I want a holiday brochure perfect blue sky, warm but not too hot. And for the sake of the farmers, I don’t even mind if it rains overnight occasionally. It can be a beautiful start to a day, the freshness of a sweet summer shower, dewdrops on the grass, a faint mist over the streams. But I want the sun to burn on through and clear it out of the way. Every day. Oh, and no humidity either. Neither my body nor my hair can do humidity. And beautiful, crisp sunsets late in the evening.
The Place
In this perfect summer of mine, the weather will be gorgeous so that means that there is only one place to be: the beach. There will be a beautiful beach with warm, soft yellow sand and gentle blue-green waves lapping at the shore. The water will warm enough for swimming and splashing. I’d like some green countryside to walk in too, somewhere to seek the shade during the middle of the day, gentle hills of fields or some other agricultural delight, olive groves or vineyards if I really push the boat out and my perfect summer transports me to some exotic destination, like a Greek island. Perhaps some interesting, little historic places to wander around because even in a perfect world, I doubt my attention span will take sitting on a beach doing nothing day in, day out. Whitewashed villages, old forts, a decent museum or two. I love architecture. But near the coast always, a soft seaside breeze to gently waft through the streets. Some restaurants and a good market will also make this the perfect place.
The Look
In this perfect summer of mine, I will not be my usual ungainly self wrapped in more layers than a parcel at a children’s game, I will have a perfect summer wardrobe of soft floaty cotton blouses, long skirts and even a nice sundress or two. I will not worry about showing my arms and I will not persistently remain an albino shade of milk bottle. It does sound a little vain but in that perfect, apparently normal, world, everyone looks nice. They have perfect hair and skin and they have the right clothes. In that perfect summer, I will suddenly fit in my own skin and be able to concentrate on enjoying what’s around me.
The People
In this perfect summer of mine, there will only be friendly, happy people. Good weather does this people generally. I will be surrounded by friends, perhaps those friends who I haven’t seen for ages and miss so much. It’ll be about catching up and sharing memories and experiences. We will laugh and chat away the evenings into the dark of night.
The Food
In my perfect summer of mine, there will be plenty of good, fresh food. I don’t mind cooking in this perfect world if I have a good kitchen, good food and good friends to share it with. There will be plenty of ice cream, eaten in cones with it dribbling down the hand in the heat, and watermelon. There will cocktails and long drinks. There will be bags of fresh fruit warm from the market, strawberries and cherries. We will eat in restaurants when we feel like it because in this perfect world there are no money pressures, no boring places with limited menus of just fish’n’chips or steak. There will be long lunches with salads and so much talk that people almost forget to eat, sitting under the shade on a veranda or patio.
In this perfect summer of mine.
I miss summer. I miss dreaming.
Related Articles
The beach was clear of people, the dank weather was keeping people away, but she hunkered down between the dunes staring out at the sea beyond, running her hands across the cold sand, appreciating the moment of isolation. She had played and lounged on this beach in and out of season all the years of her life, it was her beach, their beach. She drew her breath in sharply, some barely conscious thought paining her although her eyes still hadn’t lost their focus on the distant, rolling waves. The clouds seemed to merge with the water, grey and leaden as her heart.
She dropped back onto her bottom, never caring for the dampness and crossed her legs, brushing back the slightly crunchy curls that form in that specific combination of dank weather and sea spray and drawing the hood of her jacket over her head. Her thoughts were a blurry fog of emotions, tears slowing forming in the corners of her eyes, smarting. She stared out.
Slowly she picked up a handful of sand from beside her, letting it drift from her fingers, catching slightly with the wind and spraying out. She smiled slightly, calling to mind a distant past when she had the freedom of childhood and had tossed handfuls of sand against the backdrop of a fantastical blue sky. She picked up another, letting it drift again slowly.
Apparently all she had to do was let go, such a simple aphoristic sound bite of modern life that, she felt, was tossed about a little too freely, as if there was a button in front of her and she could reach out and press it and everything would be ‘let go’. Instead, she reached out for another handful of sand, something tangible, something manageable.
Tense and lost in her flurry of thoughts, she crushed her hand over the sand; it compacted into a loose, damp ball. She sighed again, letting go of the sand, this time it landed with soft thumps. Her eyes drew to the soft sound, looking at the scattered piles.
She picked up another handful, letting it drift away before picking up another, holding it tightly this time.
Maybe it was her after all; maybe she wasn’t ready to let go, maybe she was holding on too tightly. And maybe it was just as simple as opening her hand and letting it fall, however it landed.
~
This prompt response came to me in the middle of a night this week before speedily disappearing from my grey cells, it’s the story of my life at the moment. This version feels very much second best but it does come in bang on the 400!
I have to admit that I’m one of those delightful people who pack for all eventualities. I love the idea of packing light, the freedom of just having one small bag slung on your shoulder. No ridiculous charges on budget flights that rip you off more than if you flew business class. The liberation of travelling with a pair of clean pants and not much else appeals but it’s not for me.
Experience has taught me that you can rely on nothing at your destination. It will be cold and raining at that sunshine-seeking destination, freak weather ordered up especially for the only seven days that you’re going to be there. Besides which, have you seen how much I pack in a ‘handbag’?!
But my favourite, must-pack accessory? That is other than penknives, emergency medications, blankets and pillows, adaptors and extension leads and a mountain of books, of course! It’s got to be the most versatile weapon in my how-to-survive-a-holiday toolkit.
The humble flip-flop.
Oh yes. They rock. My feet may not be keen on wearing them for extended periods of time (ie more than 5 seconds) and if you plan on attempting to climb hills and mountains or going hiking in them then I will laugh at your stupidity but they definitely rock.
What have you used flip-flops for? And what do you have to take with you when you travel?
