The Last of Summer

I’ve always felt like a late bloomer in some aspects of life, a personal trait which has translated into my super-late uptake of television series. I got into Friends about three years after the series ended. Same with Gilmore Girls. And Glee. And True Blood. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My summer mood has followed this pattern this year.

Today is February 12th. Which means that summer’s days are numbered. Only sixteen days left. I’m the kind of person who much prefers curling up in an armchair in front of the heater with a hot chocolate in hand, reading a book, while the winter wind howls outside. However, after a roadtrip up the coast over the weekend, I’ve rediscovered my childhood love of the beach. For the past two days I’ve cycled down to the beach, off my own bat, to swim in the surf and soak up some sun.

Most likely the swift clearing of the beach by all its patrons was due to my British-like moon tan and people fled for the good of their retinas, but sitting on the beach was so relaxing, and the water so warm, I regretted not letting myself enjoy this aspect of summer back in December when the weather turned warm. I guess there’s no rule that says I can’t go down to the beach once autumn begins. What’s the point of living in Sydney with our great weather and amazing beaches if you can’t indulge in a bit of inter-seasonal seaside visits anyway?

I was going to go down this morning but woke to an overcast sky and splatterings of rain. Which makes my previous sentence sound like a total lie!