Sunday, 19 August 2012

like the weather

I read with interest yesterday morning that Britain has "sold out of Mediterranean holidays" as people have suddenly realised that after all that basking in Olympic glory they needed a summer holiday.  The cost of these holidays soared as many couldn't find flights - there were plenty of apartments, villas and hotels to be had. Just no flights. We must have been lucky - I guess it's because we booked during Olympic fever. Mrs D booked on the Thursday and we went on the Sunday.
Many people could have done themselves a favour and travelled down (across?) to East Anglia for the past week. Since coming back last Sunday we've had nothing but Mediterranean-style weather and it seems to have gone by at a leisurely pace.

It's gone a bit cloudy this afternoon but on the whole, it's been hot. The streets around us were filling up with tourist's cars as they rushed down to the beach since before ten o'clock. I've just been out with my son for a practice drive and I've never seen this small seaside town so busy. There are cars parked everywhere; the beaches are full of bored teenagers, beached whales and children building sandcastles eating sand-flecked ice creams. it must be standing room only down the kiss me quick area. 

Earlier on in the week I came upon this field of sunflowers.  I don't think I've seen one around here before - in France, yes, but not East Anglia. Very Mediterranean. So much so that despite our Greek maritime adventure, Mrs Dave and I have spent parts of the last few days paddling around out on the rolling sea in our kayak. Not exactly Homer's wine dark sea, more a dirty wine glass. Still, it's large wet and deep the same as the Greek stuff. We went up the coast a little way to meet some friends and their family having a good old fashioned British day out on the beach. After a jolly hour or so and a cup of tea we paddled back homewards. A barbecue in the evening - the first this summer, believe it or not - and we sat out until late listening to music, drinking and chatting by the light of our little chimenea. We haven't really done that for a few years due to the last few summers being a bit, well . . .

Speaking of which, yesterday's i newspaper had an article about the UK's worst place names.  I can't find a link to it but the winner is Shitterton in Dorset, closely followed by places like Crapstone, Scratchy Bottom and Golden Balls.  Isn't Britain great? Do other cultures have such great names for their settlements, I wonder? Who needs to go abroad?

Well, me actually. Although it didn't rain when we were away (on the island at least) it did rain heavily on the mainland and on Lefkada.  I couldn't get a decent photo of this because I couldn't get far back enough. It looks too blue - it was very, very dark. This was a real Rene Magritte moment. On one side of the hotel it was bright sunshine and on the other it was a huge black threatening sky. It came  to nought on our island, thankfully. Most islanders were hoping for some rain - we were in a nine week heat wave. As we were only there for a week I certainly didn't want it to rain. Well, it didn't anyway. Our little room was the middle one on the right overlooking the pool. A perfect spot to sit and drink ouzo at the end of a lazy day. No hosepipe ban there though. Look at how verdant it seems.

Despite all this, Mrs Dave is out in the garden cutting wood to make kindling.  I wonder if she knows something I don't about the weather?


Martyn Cornell said...

Shillington in Beds, which I'm sure you amd Mrs D know, was called Shitlington until the middle or so of the 19th century

Dave Leeke said...

Good one, Martyn. I can't get the idea of Glen Campbell singing it to the tune of "Galveston"!

Dave Leeke said...

. . . out of my head, that is (too tired, it's been a brief summer).