There have been many fine days this summer – no question about it, the hottest year in history has given us the summer weather that seems proper to me, a real summer in the seventies Fahrenheit, with sun and breezes and all.
I am unfortunately so mechanistic (really: mechanical) that when there is a long stretch of gray days (such as the two weeks after my visit to Spain) I go all depressed. And on a day like today I am happy.
Unfortunately, the gray days still vastly outnumber the bright days (of both sorts), and I still am not getting things done that would enable me to survive in my career; so I still need a changed life.
But today it does not seem important....
The workmen across the street – staunch British working class all – call out to each other a few words of Spanish, clearly referring to their vacations in Spain and the wonderful weather. Perhaps they also wish they lived in the south.
While I'm replanting some of my window boxes, messing about on my small back deck, a local Goth girl goes by: long black dress, buttons all the way down. Arms crossed, rather sullenly. She has to walk the dog – and I can't believe that, at some level, she doesn't thoroughly resent her fashion choice in this weather.