Spring has arrived, they said. Get the t-shirts at the ready, they said. The warmer weather is coming, they said.
Yes, maybe down in London. But while I’m sitting writing this, taking the occasional glance out of my window, I can assure you that, firstly, it’s certainly not warm, and secondly, you’d have to be slightly insane to even have the inclination go out in THAT with just a t-shirt on.
It’s Baltic, and that makes me rather quite sad.
I remember, around this time last year, the weather was starting to pick up a bit. Studying in the garden and going into school without my blazer - believe it or not, sitting with that on is like sitting inside of a sauna - signified, for me anyway, the beginning of summer. It was almost as if we had just skipped through spring, not taking any notice of its rainy days or cold mornings. Of course, this may have been different in other areas of Scotland, but in Falkirk we certainly had the perks of what seemed to be a prolonged summer.
Obviously, because of the fantastic weather we had, I was slightly optimistic about this years spring, and had my fingers and toes crossed for rainless mornings, glorious afternoons and t-shirt worthy nights. However, I must remember that this is Scotland, and the chances of having such wonderful weather for so long are quite slim. For example, on Tuesday walking to school, I almost drowned in a puddle that had grown at the top of my street. The rain was lashing down, bouncing off the ground and coming back up so high it was practically hitting me on the nose. Yes, this is an exaggeration, but my main point is that the rain was torrential, and frankly I was feeling rather deflated.
I’ve heard through the grapevine that this years summer is apparently going to be one of the best we’ve ever had. But don’t they say that all the time? Right now, sadly, I’m not optimistic. So far, I’ve seen nothing - literally, because the fog is that thick - to get me thinking otherwise. So go on, Scottish summertime. Impress me.