Pah. Fie even. I hate English weather.
Not that this makes me unique, pretty much everyone does here, even the ones who were actually born and raised here. It’s mid-June, and the weather is cold and grey, with a real mean wind blowing. It’s threatening to rain at any moment. This is a problem for the brisk walk that I had planned on taking during my lunchtime, both for stress management and for exercise.
Sometimes I get really, really nostalgic for Los Angeles. I know that it’s not all beaches and sunshine (it wasn’t even when I did live right on the strand at Hermosa Beach, just steps from the sand and water). I have this very idealised vision of what it was like to live there, kind of a “good parts” version. You know, the one without gangs and smog and traffic jams and the possibility of getting shot. The good stuff.
Just once, though…just once I would like to have a proper summer. One where the sunshine and warm weather last more than just a few days. I’m a hot weather girl, I really miss sunshine – I’m probably a much nicer (less depressed) person in the sun. I want an endless stretch of sunny, hot weather, frosty drinks by the pool, sleeping with the windows open to catch the moonlight and night breezes.
That’s why everyone I know here has a dream of moving to Spain. Or Portugal. Or Greece.