Oh gosh! have I missed summer? Even at my great age I am still an outdoors person. Last week the sun showed it’s face albeit fairly briefly and I thought about getting out my camping gear. I planned to disappear for a week of so in North Norfolk. The grey skies came back and I delayed my plans for a few more days.
I own two pairs of walking boots and they haven’t had a chance to dry out properly from endless rainy walks. I can’t blame the Met Office for our poor weather, although I usually do. What would be nice would be a forecast that I could rely on.
It is obvious to a countryman that the signs in our hedgerows seem to be a month late. Certainly the creamy elderflowers that usually herald May are only just beginning to appear. The dog roses haven’t yet burst into bloom and even the golden fields of Rape that usually dominate the fields around my home are still only a sprinkle of yellow, when usually by May they are so dazzling that they hurt the eyes as you drive by.
A thought has crossed my mind – As I get older and no longer have to take part in the rat race I often forget what day it is and sometimes . . . . . . . What day is it? . . . . . Wednesday! . . . . Where did Tuesday go? . . . . . . Are you sure? Could I have lost a whole month or more? No it’s O.K. because the swallows arrived two weeks ago and the blackbirds are feeding a greedy baby on our lawn, anyway I’ve checked the newspaper, it really is June.
I’ve got my gear packed and am ready to go at the first sign that there is a break in the miserable weather. I shall ignore the Met Office and go by what the Cranesbill, Campion’s and the Hogweed flowers are telling me.
I’ve gotta go! . . . . . . . .