Sun is shining, the weather is sweet, and none of us quite know what to do with ourselves. It’s very rare that we, as Brits, are graced by the sun’s presence, instead spending most days complaining about the weather (which is justified, as it’s usually awful) and praying for the summer to “just hurry up and get here”. However, praying for some nice summer weather is sort of like making a wish by throwing a coin in a fountain – there’s a part of you that wants it to come true, but you feel pretty safe knowing that it (probably) never will. So when the sun does suddenly make an appearance in the back garden, we react sort of how we would if that unicorn we wished for as a child were to show up – surprised, intrigued, disbelieving and at a bit of a loss for what to actually do with it. The sun in England, like unicorns, has always been the stuff of legend.
British weather is notoriously unpredictable, if it weren’t we’d have nothing to talk about, so we’ve learnt to accept it. Clearly we’ve been getting complacent as this week… it snowed. It actually snowed. In April. In spring. We’re not sure what to think, or who to believe – not the weathercaster, that’s for sure.