I’m not a summer baby

I’m really not a summer baby. Our entire household isn’t, actually. 

Our cat and dog (who we affectionately refer to using the collective “the Boys”) get crabby. Herbie- a house-cat following an incident with a Peugeot last year (he came off surprisingly well with a graze and three pelvic fractures healed by six weeks cage-rest on vet Graham’s gratefully received advice, the only lasting reminder being a little bump on his back where his bone healed and the resulting cowslick-style tuft of fur and my overprotective-mum nervousness ever since) sunbathes on the windowsill but hew cries and mews and doesn’t sleep on our pillows like he does in winter and instead seeks solitude, resting on the carpet or outside the cooler bathroom. 
Dylan is a west highland terrier and I like him best when he’s fluffy and messy. His fur gets orange around the mouth and if you don’t think he’s just adorable then we can’t be friends. Much like me, he has a bit of a bad attitude at times so we have been known to have a love/hate relationship, but over the last three and a bit years he’s become as much mine as my girlfriend’s and I can’t imagine life without the (at times grumpy) little sausage. So anyway, not only does Dylan get hayfever he has this long fur that needs to be groomed- especially in summer. He hates it. Even though the end result is spiffing, Dylan isn’t a fan. So he too hates the summer.

My girlfriend gets heat lumps if the temperature raises anything over room temperature, which is extremely cute. That reminds me that we definitely need calamine lotion today. She also sleeps on top of the covers and doesn’t roll over and snuggle up to me in the night when it’s hot. Last night marked the fifth night where she slept on and not in the bed. I’m not a fan, not just because I was cold at 4:00am and had to use a bath towel as a duvet, but also because even though she’s only a foot away from me, I miss her.
I hate the summer because I get all hot and bothered and my cheeks go red and the years when I do have a fringe it makes me even hotter and sticks to my forehead when I clean. In fact, why do I ever have a fringe at all? We’ve just established that it’s no good in summer and while I’m thinking about it, in winter it ends up messy 30 seconds after leaving the house, no matter how fancy it had looked in the windless, rainless bathroom immediately after being combed. A wise five year old once told me he liked me with a fringe because it covered some of my face- is this the reason that when I want a style update I turn to my trusty scissors and chop in a fringe myself? Or is it because I’m shit hot at cutting said fringe? (Not one to brag, but I am. I’ve never liked a fringe from a hairdresser straight off but cut mine and my girlfriend’s without incident, except once when I tried to have one of those inch long ones and it looked good for a day but then rubbish for the remaining time until it reached normal length. Really though, that’s one time out of loads). Anyway, I’m not Claudia Winkleman and my fringe will never look as good as hers (but I hope to remain significantly less annoying, so you win some you lose some).
Even with the wind and rain and soggy Primark pumps, I much prefer the winter. There’s no sunburn. There’s need for cardigans (a handy excuse to cover my arms), I can spend Sundays in jeans and a loose fitted woollen knit that I call my “Sunday Jumper”- it’s not meant to be oversized but it’s a size bigger than I am so I wear it and feel cosy and like I’m breaking all the rules. I can drink tea and hug my hands around it hoping to thaw out. I’ve finally got an ice-scraper in my car so I no longer have to use a credit card or a CD case (the last one ruined by using this method was Alicia Keyes ‘Songs in a minor‘, that was the final straw.) Activities in winter are much more indoorsy. The Dream. Lock yourself away and get lost in a museum- you’ll have to have your brew before you reach the exhibits though, a mistake I made recently at the Manchester Museum; there were no signs and I got told off. Obviously I had to sulk for ten or so minutes after throwing my tea away half finished (sacrilege!) and I missed some things- we will have to go back, tea-less soon. Maybe when the weather changes.
I mean, I won’t- of course- be winging when I’m abroad (Hawaii next year, I know I keep mentioning. Yawn.) I’m not one of those Brits that reels off “I mean I like it warm- don’t get me wrong- just not warm warm.” As we like to say though, it’s a different sun over there isn’t it? And by over there we mean absolutely anywhere that you arrive at via plane. Yes a different warm. That makes sense. I mean, we generally don’t have to work when we’re abroad and every shop has air con and it’s more acceptable to wear nothing but a bikini and a sarong for two weeks. A sarong- how very 1990s of me. But you know what I mean. But as for having to go about my business in this heat. No thanks. I mean, IKEA was an absolute nightmare this afternoon. I better move on before I start banging on about how fond of IKEA I am.
So, it was hot this week. And there were storms forecast for the weekend. Social media shows that people are now surprised by the water falling from the sky. Have I told you that as a child I thought I was the only one who could actually see the rain, because my Mum asked me to let her know if she needed to bring her washing in?! But that’s a different story. 

I, for one, don’t mind the rain. I’ll wear my hair up and I’ll put lipstick and a waterproof on and maybe I’ll wear a pair of shoes that I call my Puddle Shoes (by the way, I don’t have names for all of my clothing, just my favourites- it makes identification easier when I’m scavenging though my drawers asking my girlfriend if she knows where that particular item is) which are rubber and not ruined by a stepping on an uneven paving stone hiding a usually lethal combination of puddle and sludge. And I’ll embrace the cold.
Sorry if you’re a sun-worshiper but I’m really looking forward to the AW14.
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