When I was 7, I went on my first holiday abroad. Well, my first real holiday abroad. The trip to Almeria when I was fresh out the womb does not count.
We went to Ibiza (I know right? Party hard!), and I remember vividly the moment I got off the plane when I was hit with a wall of heat. The air had a weird smell to it, because it was so humid. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
It freaked me out a bit, because I was a kid and it was so unfamiliar to me. I told my mum I didn’t like it and wanted to go home, but soon enough I was splashing about in the pool having the time of my life. It’s still one of my fondest memories.
Earlier this week, the air smelled exactly the same as it did on that evening. That was not the time of my life, though. That was hell.
If I thought the heat was misery-inducing the other week, I don’t even know how to describe the heatwave we had this week. Everything was sticky! I couldn’t tie my hair back without yanking strands of hair out by accident. I wouldn’t even attempt to stroke the cat because I was essentially a human lint-roller. You know those little plastic egg toys you get which have coloured goop in that you can mould or bounce or make fart noises with? Except if you bounced them they’d come back up covered in floor dirt? I felt like one of those. If I’d’ve fallen over on my dusty bedroom floor, I would’ve ended up covered in dust bunnies which would probably never have come off no mater how many showers I had. I. Hate. Summer.
You know what’s even more annoying? I actually wrote all that on Wednesday, but it was so hot and gross that I couldn’t concentrate so I just closed the window and forgot about it for a couple of days. I’ve just had to go back and change everything to past tense so now there’s like a 100% chance that there’s a grammatical error in there that has slipped through the net.
So now it feels a bit redundant complaining about the heatwave now that it’s over.
Never in my life had I been more relieved to have been rained on. It was so gloriously refreshing.
Which Cleo took full advantage of.
Yesterday at 10am I was awoken by the sound of my cat crying. It had been the only night where I’d fallen asleep with the window open, so it was bloody typical that it was also the one night where it rained. Cleo likes to jump through my windows because she thinks they are doors. I have 2 windows in my room and underneath them there’s like a roofy bit so it’s easy for her to climb up, which is fine most of the time but it turns out that her little toe beans do not have the best grip on wet roof tiles so the little fluffball was stuck! Hence the crying. Half asleep, I got up and looked out the window to see her cowering under the window with no idea what to do. She was still unable to jump in so I had to go outside in my pyjamas in the rain and try and talk her down. It must have looked a right sight to any neighbours that may have seen – me sleepily standing out in the rain in my pyjamas, talking to a cat who responded only in little cat cries. Of course I didn’t really expect her to understand what I meant by “Just run down and I’ll catch you!” but in my drowsy state I lived in hope. After about 5 minutes, she eventually plucked up the courage to attempt jumping through the window, and she was safe, having left little muddy pawprints on my window sill. Silly cat.
So the heatwave is over now, at long last. True British Summer has returned! Which is kind of annoying timing, actually, because I had some sun-dependent plans this weekend and now I’m going to have to rethink them. Hmmm.
Also, it’s July next weekend! I can’t believe we are nearly half way through the year. I wonder if it’s possible for me to cram all my 2017 goals into the remaining 6 months? I mean the first half of the year has been a complete write-off and it would be nice to come out of 2017 with a job and carrying 5 or 6 stone less than I am now. Here’s hoping!
Have a crisp weekend, everyone!