Summer has been and gone

Autumn has landed. Torrential rain is drenching my cherished hope of a long, lingering summer.

I was even forced to light the fire last night. And today I am wearing tights and a fluffy jumper.

The work commute this morning was made hideous by a wall of water and, no, I don’t care if the garden needs it.

Rain is forecast for tomorrow and for the day after, the day after that and the day after that..... and for the foreseeable future.

Summer, it would seem, has been brutally turned off.

To be honest, I have just about had as much as I can take. I am tempted to try and find some last minute flights to visit Granny in Spain, but I can’t, not really.

For one thing I have spent all my money: The other thing is that, technically, I have just a few hours of holiday left that I can take. Bah.

Maybe my complaining is the result of having dangerously low serotonin levels after yesterday’s temporary high from drinking several pints of Honey Dipper at Somerley Beer Festival (it WAS over eight hours, before you get all evangelical on me) on what now appeared to be the last day of summer.

It was the first beer festival I have ever been to and I had visions of battling my way through throngs of bearded, barrel-shaped, real ale drinkers.

But this ancient stereotype can now be buried, sort of.

There were a few ruddy-faced country folk, who looked mostly like extras straight from filming The Mill on the Floss and the odd moody farmer or two, but the music was 20th century and there were NO queues for beer. And loads of people danced.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon (most probably our last) which was good because my very annoying friend tipped a bottle of water over my dress after I dripped copious amounts of apple sauce from my hog roast roll down my front – think Onslow or ice bucket challenge.

Anyway, as the afternoon rambled on, I was too busy thinking I was Tura Satana (you know, that beautiful, exotic dancer from the 1960s) to care about anything at all, least of all the imminent end of summer.

Unfortunately I can’t drown my end of summer sorrows in beer every day, but I’m just not emotionally prepared for damp clothes and runny eyeliner.

Not yet anyway.

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