Apologies for the long gap between
blogs. I have been making money, and being on holiday, this is my
only excuse, and it is the one I am sticking to. I hope it suffices.
I am not really sure where this particular entry is heading, but
humour me, I wish to talk about the phenomenon of mourning the end of
summer. I admit this seems an odd thing to write about as we veer
into august in the midst of blistering temperatures, and when I have
not willingly worn socks for over a month now, but I was reminded of
a thing on monday morning, and I shall try and describe it now.
What happened was this, I woke up and
prepared for my return to work after a fortnight off. It has been
about a decade since I last took a whole fortnight off, and so it had
felt like a proper summer holiday, like you get when you're a kid,
and the summer lasts forever. Well, not that good, but pretty great.
After a fortnight of blistering temperatures, in which I had pottered
about in flip flops and shorts, it was no fun to yank on a real pair
of trousers and force my feet into shoes and socks. At this point
some smart arse is going to point out that I regularly go to work in
shorts and flip flops as well, and they are right, I do. However, on
monday I woke up to the rain lashing away at my windows, and it
looked to be a pretty awful day.
The rain almost lifted my spirits, as
I figured I may as well be at work if the weather is going to turn
back to standard devon summertime. However, I was thinking of the
mornings I had spent on Jersey with my wife the week before,
strolling through glorious sunshine and going to see marvellous and
wonderful things. And then I realised I was going to have to drive to
work, and wear a coat, as it was really proper raining by this point.
I hate driving to work, it is a lovely walk, and it cheers me up to
walk in the morning (well any time of day really) but this may be a
subject for an entirely separate entry later on. Anyhow, I got into
my car, and had left a lilac time album in the CD player, it played
me this song.
Salvation Song (please follow the link, it's the most fragile and beautiful thing you are likely to hear today)
Now, I love this song, it is a
beautiful and lovely piece of music which cannot fail to touch
anybody who hears it. And on this occasion, it got me, I very nearly
turned up to work in floods of tears as I was so unnecessarily
emotional over the whole end of holiday, crappy rainy morning,
beautiful love song thing I had just been through. Which reminded me
of when I was a strange and unusual child, really.
Seriously, I had utterly forgotten
this, but when I was a kid, pretty much every september without fail,
I would find one morning on the bus to school in the first week back,
my eyes would fill with tears, and I would be heartbroken over the
death of the summer. At least that's what I put it down to, I might
have just been overly emotional, or on the edge of a nervous
breakdown (might be on one now as well, who can tell?) either way, I
would pretty much cry in front of people for no good reason, and not
be able to explain why (not the coolest thing for an awkward and
geeky 12 year old with a serious Dr Who problem). This still happens
if somebody plays the wrong song at me at the wrong time. I am old
enough now to admit that it was Richard Marx on the school bus, one
very shameful september. I have never liked that song, and I never
will, but if I hear it at the wrong time, I will howl like a little
girl with a kebab skewer through her foot.
My emotional instability aside, those
long summers when I was a kid, when we'd go out and play in rivers,
and just do nothing in bright sunshine for what felt like years, are
really worth getting upset about when they're over. Even when it's
just a fleeting fortnight in your thirties that felt a bit like the
late 80s somehow. I am glad I can mourn the good and lovely things,
and am not dead inside. Now pass me the flip flops, I'm having cider
for lunch again.
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