When I think back over the last couple of years, we didn't really get off too badly this year when it came to summer weather. No, it's not been a summer of endless blue skies, where the heat hits you every morning as you open the window like. But I don't think it really ever felt like opening an oven door, in the UK at least. But even this Saturday the mercury, if not quite soaring, at least bubbled a little bit. After strolling around Broadway Market, my friend and I lay on the parched grass of London Fields and contemplated a life of luxury, with beautiful houses and plentiful holidays, and let the sunshine beat down on us like Midsummer. I tried not to notice that the golden blades of grass matched the golden leaves rustling on the ground.
On Sunday it was cold.
So this is autumn. And my dreams of sunshine become dreams again. I wonder how much longer I'll wish my life away waiting for the next June.