Those Lazy hazy days

It's summer in England. The longed for summer is officially here at last. After so many months of cold wet misery, I can finally bask in the glow of an English summer. Except for one thing. In the best tradition of English weather, summer ended on the day it officially began. Sunshine? Ha! Ask the people who had 6 weeks worth of rain fall in one night this week about that. Warmth? Given the frosty temperatures that have Londoners once again digging out their winer woolies, it's doubtful that any of us will be warm again without the aid of layers of clothing and external heating devices.

In one of the cruel ironies, the English seem to be firmly convinced that they live in a climate conducive to an outdoor lifestyle. One of the big four tennis tournaments has started, dragging many out into the night to line up for tickets in an antiquted ritual phased out by the other three grand slams decades ago. And it's cold, it's raining, and even Tim Henman gave up the fight for lack of light on day one after being rained off the court more times than is comfortable. I'm fairly certain the Wombles have been washed off the Common.

The music festivals have swung into motion; what does that mean for the lay person? Make a trip to the local gardening centre and get yourself a pair of 'Wellies', because if you had any intention of going anywhere near Glastonbury, you would have needed either a large supply of mind altering drugs - always a possibility there, by all accounts - or the full wet weather kit.

Mind you, if it wasn't for the turn of the weather, we never would have known that summer had arrived and might have gone on thinking that Spring was beautiful. Now we know the truth; Spring was really summer. Now all that remains is to count down until the second week of summer hits. According to locals, that should be some time around August. Here's hoping.