We had rain today. Big sheets of rain around lunch time. That was OK for us, we were inside.
Early afternoon, while out, there were still shallow puddles to splash in. And the sun was coming out again.
We set out with cardigans; by the time we got to the park, mid afternoon, we ditched them to play in the sun at the park. (Again.)
By the evening, we were back to humidity, windows open. Washing hung up in the attic already dried within half a day.
Writing in the late evening, windows are still open. There is no particular need to close them either.
[post written earlier in the week – for those wondering which day I’m describing.]
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All this is not at all remarkable in many places. But we are talking about Scotland here.
Especially east coast Scotland, where a day of sun is pretty much usually followed by a day of mist (or sea fog, otherwise known as haar). I have often thought of this as a fairly presybterian phenomenon – you’ve had your fun, now it’s back to low level gloom.
So what does one do with all this unaccustomed heat and sunshine? In fact, not just heat and sunshine, but the very same falling within (gasp) the school holiday period.
(It is not unknown for schools to break up at the end of June, and rain to begin pretty much the next day – if not that very afternoon.)
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Here’s what we do. We eat ice lollies. Lots of them. We develop ways of eating them so that they start to have outlines: this one has a head, that one has a nose, and so on.
We look at living on salad vegetables and fruit (with maybe the odd chicken nugget for those in need). And other things that are easy to nibble.
We go to the park. And we go to the park. And once more, we set out for the park, remarking on just how warm it is mid afternoon. We make complicated calculations about how much sunscreen that might require for the kids.
We go swimming. And are delighted to find that the local council has made it free for school kids. (At least, at this pool, at this time of day. We make a mental note to phone and check just what the combination of details is, so we can do it (also) again and again.)
We break out those particular toys that only really see the light of day for a week of the year, normally. After a while, we just leave them out in the garden anyway.
We forget that there is really any need to wear shoes other than sandals. Or possibly more rugged sandals for going to the beach, climbing on rocks and so on.
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Every now and then, we look up, as though there was something else to remember to do. Like pack raincoats, duck for cover, bring along an extra layer just in case. The conventional things that we expect to do at least fifty weeks of the year.
…
No, maybe not. Now, was there another ice lolly about the place? This kind of dream, we don’t need to wake up from just yet.