A lot of people take to the upswing in temperature with gusto. These are the enthusiasts. They flock towards the sun as soon as it appears from behind a cloud. They'll hold a BBQ in March in 14 degrees just because it isn't raining. It wouldn't surprise me if they doused themselves in lard in order to get that "burned to a crisp" look on their backs and shoulders. In the office on monday they're the ones flaunting their lobserfication with pride - "got this just sitting in the garden on saturday - it was such a nice day!"
Enthusiasts can't just *go* to the beach. I would take a beach towel and a book, things that fit neatly into a bag. Enthusiasts need a roof box. They have to take a gazebo, a cool box, camping chairs, BBQ, plates, cutlery, utensils, plastic cups, umberella, blankets, windbreakers and anything else which may prove useful.
Case in point - we went to the beach this afternoon and it was teaming with people who looked like they were planning to invade a small country rather than spend a pleasurable afternoon by the sea.
In addition to the enthusiasts, there's also the fatalists. There's always at least one in the office. You go bouncing in, enjoying the influx of vitamin D coursing through your veins, high on the anticipation of a sunny weekend... the fatalists enjoy nothing more than pissing on your sun-soaked fireworks. "oh," they whisper, "it won't last! no, the weather will be changing by Thursday. They said on the radio that it was going to pour down tomorrow. The bloke on the local station said there was a serious danger of snow by the end of next week. And that's just what we don't need when Hurricane Whoever is going to sideswipe us..."
These people are incapable of enjoying themselves (or seeing anyone else expressing any kind of hope, especially when it comes to our delightful climate) They'll announce a heatwave in December while we're all praying for a snow day, and gleefully announce sudden and unexpected flash floods in the locality of your holiday destination - "wait, aren't you going there next week?" as if they didn't know.
The barometers are an interesting group and I happen to be married to one of them. They are talking thermometers, unable to cope with anything above or below 22 degrees. They don't like any weather at all whatsoever. They treat the rain and sun with equal contempt. They freeze in winter, boil in summer and never seem to find that happy medium. It is always too hot, too cold, too wet, too windy, too sunny, too *anything*.
The barometers and enthusiasts seem to be on the same team in January and February, when the fun of Christmas is over and the prospect of snow is met more with dread than anticipation. Now, in the wake of several years worth of awful summers, the enthusiasts and barometers are at loggerheads. How on earth can you complain about the sun after a winter that carried on until May?!
I am usually a subtle enthusiast. I welcome the golden orb without the need to pack up the contents of my house to set up a new republic on the nearest sandy surface. I am content to sit in my garden of an evening with friends, drinking wine and listening to music. During the day I'll be outside, but in the shade.
However, it may be that my "category" is about to change, and I may have more in common with my barometer husband from now own. To my absolute horror I seem to have developed Hay Fever. I've been twenty-nine years on this planet and have always been able to enjoy summer with clear lungs and an unblocked nose. The first clue that all was not well came on Monday when my right eye decided to water for nine hours straight. I've been wheezing and coughing at night, my sinuses are on permanent red-alert and I can't be more than 10 feet from a box of tissues. It's like having a cold but with none of the fun. I'm assuming this is another asthma thing. Oh good.
On a final note, I don't imagine this weekend will go into the books similar to the fabled and mythological Summer of 76, despite Mr Murray's record-breaking performance at Wimbledon today (my most profuse apologies - I'm afraid I was watching Star Wars at the time). However I hope this current generation of children (whether they be enthusiasts, barometers or fatalists) will look back and think of their childhood summers as all being like today because heaven knows there haven't been a lot of these weekends in the past five years.
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