Summer isn't over, yet.

Cue rant.

This year, I've been working in a school. In the UK, the school holidays don't begin until the last week of July (which is ridiculous, but that's another rant for another day). So, while I managed to enjoy a spot of good weather when the sun deigned to shine on days I wasn't working, my summer didn't officially start until it was almost August. Which would be all fine and dandy, if I could actually enjoy it in peace instead of being constantly told that summer is practically over.

Case number one:
When I went shopping for swimwear for my long awaited trip to Spain in MID-JULY, only one high street shop still had a decent stock of bikinis. The rest of the shops I visited had racks of odd tops and bottoms, mostly in sizes that would barely cover a twelve year old's breasts, never mind mine.

Case number two:
Those same shops already had their "Autumn Collection" in. I repeat, it was JULY. And I'm pretty sure stationery shops and the likes of George at Asda crack out the "Back To School" rubbish before the kids have even finished school nowadays.

Case number three:
Not just the shops, but the media are telling me that summer is over, and people I follow on Instagram can't wait for Autumn (which is fine, but could you, you know, not remind me so often that after summer comes gloomy days and colder, wetter weather?) Well let me tell you, media, summer is not over. Where I used to live (Spain) August happens to be the hottest month of the year. And that's when everyone goes on their SUMMER holiday.

Last year, I wrote a blog post about how I found it hard to accept Autumn's arrival (even though I love all the colours, fashion and tasty things it brings once I finally embrace it). In the post, I explained how I'm a spring-summer kid, and I love it when the sunshine arrives with its warmer weather. So when I have the message being thrown at me from all sides that summer is over before it's begun, it doesn't make for a very happy me.

Some time ago, I read an article about how the media and the shopping industry  basically wish our life away, to the point where we're living in a constant panic to get things done. I'm already seing restaurants urging me to make reservations for Christmas, and the Christmas shopping season will start pretty much as soon as September arrives (barely squeezing in Halloween). I, for one, constantly feel like I'm being left behind, and I remember last year being convinced for a moment I was still in September when it was, in fact, November.

Once upon a time I was sheltered from this sped up passage of time. Now, thanks to the internet and shopping, I can't hide from it. I want to live in the moment, in peace, without someone or something urging me to get on with the next big event of the year. I don't want to see hot cross buns and Easter Eggs in the shops on the 1st of January, when Easter isn't until March/April. I don't want to think about Valentine's Day until February. I don't want to buy my swimsuits in March and my winter coats in August. I would like to have the option of buying and eating pumpkins for the duration that they are in season, not just for Halloween, and I don't want to be urged to make Christmas plans in the summer.

So, shops, media, et al: summer is not over yet. Stop trying to convince me otherwise.

Hampshire, UK, August 2016

Soul Vacation

It's not been a great British summer. We've had sunny days, but those days have mostly fallen when I've been busy or at work. But I managed to tolerate the not so great weather knowing that I would be jetting off to Spain in September. And now, now that the holiday is over and done with, it's not just sunshine that I've enjoyed. I've enjoyed simple pleasures that all too often get forgotten about in day-to-day life.


Who knew something so simple as drinking a morning cup of tea on the balcony could be so lovely? Especially with a view of the sea, a light breeze and sounds of holiday activity. And then, if seeing the sea from afar isn't enough, having a wander down to the beach after breakfast to dip your toes in the water, or taking a walk along the prom or into town, with no time constraints, no obligations.


Freedom was certainly the theme of the holiday, like being able to sit around reading for as long as I wanted, or eat whatever I wanted, whether that's refreshing fruit and salad or something a little more naughty (cake anyone?). And this freedom can only come when you are spending time with friends and loved ones who are happy to enjoy the same things as yourself, and I'm thankful for that.


As well as freedom, I've been reminded not just of the simple things, but of things I grew up loving. We have all this digitally enhanced pop music on the radio these days, but there is nothing more beautiful than raw, live music, a guitar and a voice, whether that be blues, jazz or flamenco. One of the best nights of the 10 days was when a male and female duo got up on stage to entertain us with some typical flamenco. Stunning guitar and a passionate voice got everyone up dancing and clapping along to the music.


And then you have the things man never made: the mountains of the Sierra Nevada, the ever-changing sky... and the sea. Always the sea. You could go back to your home town and buildings could have been knocked down, parks dug up, friends and local businesses gone, but the sea will always be both the same and constantly changing.


They talk about soul vacations. I always thought a soul vacation is going to some far-flung destination and seeing things you've never seen before. But I've realised that sun, sea and time to reflect and relax is sometimes all the food the soul needs.

Norwich, UK, September 2015

Faded Britain

My boyfriend and I love going on trips, so moving to Norwich has given us the opportunity to explore a brand new corner of Britain. Although we've been here for two months, bad weather, visiting family and bee stings (thankfully not a bad one) have prevented us from getting in the car and taking a drive to one of the several places I have on my East Anglia bucket list.

Today we managed to get to Great Yarmouth. You've all heard of or visited those faded seaside towns from when, to the British, a holiday meant staying in a caravan park in a touristey seaside town and whiling away a few days eating fish and chips, ice cream and candy floss, making sand castles and throwing 2 pence pieces into slot machines. Sadly for these resorts, many Brits can now afford holidays that require a plane ride, so the money just isn't going into them the way they used to. The peeling paint and buildings in disrepair leave me feeling very nostalgic, not just because it's sad to see them going downhill, but because these places take me back to a brightly coloured childhood.

For my parents' generation, these resorts were still holiday destinations. By the time I came along, they were more day trip material with my grandparents. It was probably a trip down memory lane for them too. New Brighton just across from Liverpool was the main one, with trips to the fair and chips with salt and vinegar, and further afield was Blackpool, Southport and Rhyl in North Wales. These day trips were some of the highlights of my youngest years, before we moved to Spain. These towns are the epitome, in my mind, of true Britishness.

By my teens, I began to notice the decline of these places. Some of them are lucky enough to be rescued or have found money from other sources. Others are not so lucky. There is evidence of this in patched up architecture, missing signs and paint in desperate need of a touch up. But the best thing about these places is that they just keep on going. Donkey rides on the beach, ice cream vans, the arcades luring you in with their distorted music and constant clink of coins...

But it was a good day. The sun was out to begin with (before, in true British style, the sky clouded over), my hair was blown into a bird's nest and my skin whipped into goosepimples, and the best thing? We stopped for proper chippie chips on the sea front. And because I'm Northern, I had to have gravy.

It wasn't how I usually like to spend my Sundays, but it was a refreshing break from the norm. I missed my parents, I missed my grandparents and I missed childhood, but in that perfect, bittersweet way. Those good old British seaside towns might fade, but my memories won't. I hope they keep going a little longer.

Happy Sunday :)

Norwich, UK, August 2015