Looking outside to yet another overcast day albeit one which is not exactly grey, more dull/bright, I wondered exactly where summer is hiding. We enjoyed a beautiful if unexceptional day yesterday and managed to eat both lunch and dinner outside for the first time this year. We did eat lunch and even breakfast outside in April but of course the days are still short and by dinner time it was decidedly chilly and dark! Yesterday we were still outside at 11pm though by then we had donned cardies or jumpers and were indulging in a small cognac whilst scannning the night sky for stars and meteorite showers.
Disappointing as the weather has been since April I wonder whether our expectations in general are unrealistically high these days. I don't think I mean unrealistic in the same way the meteorologists try and explain away our fixation with summer sunshine as being founded on our holiday experiences - hello! since when was a lighter shade of grey typical summer weather anyway? - but rather how we have become a bit superlative about everything.
For example, using the word "nice" is virtually sneered at these days. We are not allowed to have a nice time or a pleasant evening any more. These days we have to have a fantastic time or a fabulous holiday or a superb something or the other. And when we don't? No wonder there are so many of us popping some kind of happy pill or just putting up with feeling less than ecstatic.
Perhaps it is time to make "nice" acceptable again, to promote "pleasant" to its rightful place in our everyday vocabulary. With the pressure off maybe we will start to feel satisfied with a less than incredible, mind-blowing, mega, stupendous, brilliant time?
In the meantime I would be happy with some pleasant weather although I am trying to organise some Rhodiola to support my enfeebled efforts. Of course when we get to Mallorca in September the weather had better be amazing!!!!
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