OK, so I was very wrong about the weather…

But that’s a good thing, yes?

As soon as I posted last week, miserably predicting that the weather always collapses into dank and dismal Autumn when the new term starts, we have ourselves a genuine Indian summer.
Not only that, but one week in and we are steaming on the hottest day of the year.

This is brilliant. Instead of turning the radiators on, I just have to open the windows in order to warm up House of One Million Draughts.

Free heat! Yesssss!

But if me just saying the weather is going to get cold and horrible means the weather will get record-breakingly hot and lovely, what other Powers of Opposite Happenings does this blog have?

So here goes:

  • The Walking Dead Season 6 will NEVER make it onto Amazon Prime.
  • I’ll wake up tomorrow and my hair will be short, dry and lifeless.
  • The Government is about to make daily ironing compulsory.
  • Anyone who doesn’t have double glazing is NOT to be given a £10,000 grant and a free cardigan.
  • Scientists will discover raspberry vodka is actually a very bad thing that makes you old and fat.

Just putting these out there for starters… in a week’s time my life should be transformed.

Last day of Summer

Sunset over Brixham harbour

Is there any sadder time? The last day of the summer holidays, and no matter what you do, what exciting outings you plan, the air is heavy with dull resignation.

I have mixed feelings about the summer holidays; the bliss of a slow wake up, with no need to endure the tightly-screwed on stress of a school morning; no nightly tussles over early bedtimes; no breathless conversations with a highly-strung husband on the lines of ‘but you said you were picking them up from badminton club’ and freedom from the tyranny of the ironing board – no-one needs any bloody white shirts ironing. But the downside – I have to spend ALL DAY with my children.

My children are extraordinarily bright, excellent company and actually very amusing, obviously, but they insist on being fed three times a day – plus snacks – and they leave bits on the carpet. All this means extra work for me, which is a Bad Thing. Extra drudgery means no time to do any writing, no head time to even think about doing any writing. A friend described being prevented from practising your artistic thing as being ‘creatively constipated’, and while I am too classy to use that term, that is EXACTLY how it feels. All those hours of elaborate plot constructions and snappy dialogue, all dissolved and washed away forever in the constant incoming tide of the six-week break.

A seagull on a sandy beach

So much sand, so many picnics

I have been writing properly (ie: feverishly), as opposed to arsing about with diaries and anguished paragraphs, for coming up to five years now, and the holidays have always killed it dead. This year I embraced the inevitable, and went with the roller-coaster of ice creams, Ru Paul’s Drag Race, Pizza Hut, beach picnics and spicy memes.

Tomorrow the routine begins again, and today has a heavy grey pall hanging over  it. School bags will need to be dragged out from under beds, bus passes retrieved from behind dusty, unread set texts and new uniforms (the cost of which could pay off some countries’ national debts) shaken out of their cardboard creases. And tonight will be the most dreaded of things: An Early Night.

Tomorrow the weather will turn; it always does. No matter how mild and pleasant the days before have been, First Day Back At School signals the start of Autumn. The radiators will judder and wheeze into life, sandals will start to gather dust, I’ll begin leaving cardigans at strategic points throughout the house and start forgetting to ring the coalman. At no other time of year do the seasons pivot so dramatically.

Yes, it’s bloody miserable; but it is more of a New Year’s Eve than New Year’s Eve is. A time of fun and feasting draws to a close and we all settle back (with half a sigh of relief) into timetables and routines, all feeling a little bit wiser as we put on new clothes and zip up new pencil cases. This year I have a new pen (a green one with a feather!) and half a head full of ideas. Endings and beginnings.

Green goose feather pen in a green pen holder

Too big for a pencil case