It is worth noting, before I am mocked by Americans and other aliens, that summer in England is not an annual event; that our enjoyment of every hot summer day is plagued with fear that it will be the last beautiful day, not merely of the season but of one's life, and so shedding clothes and grabbing at picnic baskets is the only reasonable response.
I really do get this, in that it's the seasonal inverse of the Dallas reaction to snow: Whereas summer temperatures fit to melt lead are standard and to be expected, white flakes falling from the sky are special and magical, and when we get enough to start piling up there's nothing for it but to take a day to stay home and perhaps go out and play in it, or merely huddle inside with something warming and contemplate the transformed landscape. I'm glad you're having such wonderful weather right now.
Also glad to hear that you're going back with your mother for a second try at something she got rushed through the first time, and that you're taking shimgray this time around.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2010-05-24 08:46 pm (UTC)I really do get this, in that it's the seasonal inverse of the Dallas reaction to snow: Whereas summer temperatures fit to melt lead are standard and to be expected, white flakes falling from the sky are special and magical, and when we get enough to start piling up there's nothing for it but to take a day to stay home and perhaps go out and play in it, or merely huddle inside with something warming and contemplate the transformed landscape. I'm glad you're having such wonderful weather right now.
Also glad to hear that you're going back with your mother for a second try at something she got rushed through the first time, and that you're taking