Anna Min­cham on life as a wife and mum of three in Ger­rards Cross

Buckinghamshire Advertiser - - PEOPLE AND PLACES -

SUM­MER is my favourite time of the year, all 24 hours of it, or so it seems. Have we had it yet, does any­one know? It seems to be nonex­is­tent. As I type, a heat wave is fore­cast, just as well it’s sup­posed to stretch over the week­end, as this full time work force mem­ber can’t re­mem­ber what the sun looks or feels like on an all-day week­end jolly with the chil­dren, hence the scar­ily pasty white clas­sic of­fice worker’s skin, that is also clearly sub­jected to air con.

No chance of even a lit­tle sun­tan as of yet. Humph.

As the sum­mer sol­stice is fast ap­proach­ing, mean­ing the nights will start drawing in again (sorry!), this pale and pasty face would like to know if the re­cent wind and rain will ever dis­ap­pear for long enough pe­ri­ods.

If it did, it could make way for the in­tended sum­mer and ac­com­pa­ny­ing evenings sit­ting in the gar­den sip­ping Pimms – no wait, there goes my dream again, we have older chil­dren thrown into the evening mix, the tran­quil set­ting is also nonex­is­tent!

The trusty log burner was lit on the first day of June and even the dogs were bat­tling for prime po­si­tion in front of it – how is that right?

The cosy fluffy blan­kets have re­mained a fea­ture in the lounge, and the sum­mer wardrobe is still tucked away in stor­age – in part, this is due to lack of time to fish it all out from the full-to-burst­ing eaves stor­age, and of course, the mam­moth box is right at the back, where else would it be?

Why do I pos­sess so many sum­mer clothes for a part of the world where there re­ally isn’t that much op­por­tu­nity to pa­rade around in them?

So cur­rently, no pic­nics are planned, de­spite new rugs hav­ing been pur­chased in prepa­ra­tion, or more ac­cu­rately, an­tic­i­pa­tion.

The house­hold’s soon-to-be birth­day girl (the four-go­ing-on-15 year-old daugh­ter) has her party firmly ar­ranged at an in­door venue, just in case.

I live in hope of see­ing some sun be­fore the fore­cast­ers pre­dict an­other nonex­is­tent In­dian sum­mer, or per­ish the thought, an­other freez­ing cold win­ter.

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