In which the sunshine finally makes an appearance

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Up until last weekend, the month of May and me were not seeing eye to eye. The rain was continuing to lash down and the temperatures were ridiculously cold, an arts project I was managing was running into difficulties, and I’d been feeling unwell for some time with a lurgy that was lurking in the background but refused to develop into anything serious enough to warrant time off from work. S and I had had a constant stream of weddings and christenings and guests and trips which, although absolutely lovely in themselves, meant we hadn’t had a weekend just to ourselves for over six weeks. We were both tired, irritable and grumpy.

What a difference a couple of days makes. Over the weekend the sun finally decided to come out and graced us with its presence for both Saturday and Sunday. 48 hours of gloriously selfish us-time stretched out with no obligations, nowhere to be, just the opportunity to do whatever and be wherever the mood took us.

And boy, was it a good 48 hours. It started off on Friday with cava and pizza to celebrate my being offered the editorship of the magazine I work for, a gig that I am very excited about taking on. On Saturday we meandered up and down Park St, buying mosquito nets and universal plugs and new shoes for S, before treating ourselves to chocolate & hazelnut and strawberry milkshakes at Rocotillos. We went swimming in the new international pool and I improved my front crawl using tips from my triathlete friend to the extent that I can nearly beat S now. (I still whup him in breaststroke.)

The absence of rain meant I could get out into the garden and plant the seeds that have been sitting in a drawer, patiently waiting for some warmer weather and a drier spell. Our little garden now has the promise of chilli, beetroot, onions, broad beans and sweetpeas. The pepper seedlings on my windowsill also popped up (I am sure in response to seeing some sunshine for the first time in their young lives) and the chives burst into glorious purple flower. We ate lunch out on the deck and laughed at Olivia’s frustration about not being able to catch the impudent pigeons that sit in our neighbour’s tree. S enjoyed two very long bike rides, I read The Big Sleep for my book club and got a few more pages into Vanity Fair (one of the things I want to do before I’m thirty is to finally finish reading this novel, after two false starts in 2002 and 2008), and we finished off the weekend with bucket-sized glasses of sherry at our neighbour’s house.

By Monday the temperature had dropped, the skies were once again grey and we had a hailstorm at about 7pm, but  batteries have been recharged and work stresses are easier to cope with after two days of relaxation.

 

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6 responses »

  1. It was lovely seeing the sun on the weekend, though I barely had time to notice what with the continuing unpacking and organization of the tiny place we moved into. But I, who rarely complains about the weather, have decided it’s time to start moaning in earnest. I’m so tired of being cold all. the. time. It’s a good think March was beautiful or I should have an exceedingly poor opinion of the British weather.

    More importantly – congrats on the editorship!!! Way to go, you.

    • On behalf of all Brits, I am so sorry for the weather that we’ve been having for the past two months. It’s definitely not normal to still be wearing flannelette pyjamas to bed in late spring (which has been me throughout May). Although there’s one advantage: if you’re now moaning about the weather, congratulations – you’re officially one of us!

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