I am in denial. According to my calendar, it is still summer, and will be for another eleven days. The weather, however, says otherwise. We have just had the coldest summer since 1993, but in 1993 I was still in New Zealand, and spent a summer month baking whilst packing apricots, so it has been, quite possibly, the coldest summer of my life.
I feel almost cheated, that we are going to have another winter soon, when we don’t seem to really have had a summer. I’ve felt this way for the last four years, but it seems worse this year somehow. I think maybe having an allotment has made me more acutely aware of the passing of the year. I have been filling in my seed order for next year, which means the focus has definitely changed from this year to next. Even my tomato plants are looking sad, now they’ve been denuded of their leaves to help the plants focus on ripening the fruit.
I hate being cold. I just don’t cope very well with it. I spend about four months of the year with my knuckles split and bleeding no matter how much moisturiser I slather on. Until I started using my own shopping bags, it was a very sad day each year the first time I was unable to open the plastic bags to pack away my shopping.
I’m the one who’s always in a jumper even when everyone else is in a t-shirt. I remember when I was a kid, my mother once being hugely embarrassed in a shoe shop as I stripped off six pairs of socks in order to try on some shoes. It’s this time of the year I begin to look at houses in New Zealand, thinking how lovely it would be if it was summer on the way instead of winter. Come March, though, I would be looking back to the northern hemisphere. Perhaps I need a holiday home there, so I can just go back for December through to February!
OK, that’s my whinge done. I’m going to be cheerful now, and embrace the season. I will polish my boots. I will make pumpkin soup. I promise not to complain again, and I will attempt to be unremittingly cheerful from now on. Wish me luck.