Summer

The summer holidays had a feeling when I was younger. Freedom. Sunshine. Late mornings, late nights. Waking to lists of chores to do while my parents were at work and I wasted the day eating jelly and reading on the deck.

Now? I have a strong aversion to the children wandering town while I am trying to get to meetings. The families sitting in cafes, eating ice cream, while I just need to grab a coffee in my lunch break. the families huddling in the rain while their precious summer holiday is nothing but a sad picture reminiscent of a Giles cartoon.

Now I look forward to the term time, when I can wander along the beach on my way home and not have to push through the crowds of holiday makers. When I can pop to the coffee shop and not listen to screaming children demanding that specific ice cream that has sold out to the other screaming children that came before.

• 

August is rainy. Or so my colleagues tell me. And until this week, they were very wrong. This week, however, they are very right. It’s cool, damp, and delightful! The beach umbrella’s have been blown away, the beach goers are cowering in their hotels, and town again belongs to the office workers. Is that mean of me? Maybe. All I know is that I need a break. A break from the English summer, from the pale sunburnt holiday makers, and the crowded buses, when all I want to do is get home to relax at the end of the day.

So I’m leaving. On a jet plane. Not for long, just long enough to breathe some fresh air, see some fresh sights, push my way through fresh tourists. I’ll keep you updated.