Katrina Tweedie
IT WAS so easy to get used to the endless sunshine.
The sight of paddling pools in back gardens with giant pink floating flamingos, the sound of BBQs and the popping of yet another prosecco cork.
Swimming in the sea without fear of hypothermia, eating breakfast and dinner outside and washing bone dry on the line.
The jasmine and wisteria, which normally wither in their pots, suddenly burst into life and began spreading up my garden walls.
Our cats and dog barely moved, preferring to lie on the stone kitchen floor, desperately trying to cool down.
Sherman, the tortoise, basked in the sunshine, a beatific smile on his face.
A Twitter post by @_dcalg that went viral summed it up: “This isny even a heatwave any more is it? There’s no end to this weather.
“We just live in a hot country now, don’t we? We’ll rename it Hotland.
“We live in the sunshine now like we always wanted and now we’re just sweaty, miserable idiots. “I hope we’re happy.” Then, to top off the feel-good vibes, the Thai children trapped in a flooded cave were finally rescued and we all gave a collective gasp of joy and relief. Could this summer get any better? Well, there were repercussions of the heatwave.
After three weeks, I’d already worn my entire summer holiday wardrobe to work, with only the sarongs remaining.
And while the sun was doing its best to give us a Mediterranean sunset every evening, my white wine consumption increased dramatically as midweek sundowners became the norm. It was too hot to exercise, so the extra holiday pounds have piled on – and I’ve not even been away yet. And who else was secretly delighted at friends posting pictures from their fancy foreign holidays when the weather was just as nice here? Then the bubble burst. Like an ominous omen, the skies clouded over and, perplexed, I reached for a jumper. The World Cup mania came to a crushing end with England’s defeat to Croatia, leaving us only with Brexit, a Wimbledon without Andy Murray and a giant inflatable Trump baby over London. I could feel my optimism dissolving as fast as an Alka-Seltzer the morning after the night before. But in the way that I recall the sunny summers of my childhood, I reckon my children will remember the summer of 2018 – if only for their mum wearing a sarong to work.
‘After three weeks, I’d already worn my entire summer holiday wardrobe to work’