summer

so. 

not this last weekend but the weekend before.  i went to the isle of white with my parents. we stayed in the fantastic hotel called the northbank.  the north bank is what you want form an old hotel.  its unpretentious and knows it isn't flash. its run by an eccentric family. the father is a jolly basil faulty, the mother only will speak to you if you are regulars and even then she whispers as if she is to shy to talk out loud.  they have two sons one is rather fond of his drink and has a very scared face from an accident in his misspent youth.  the younger brother is in his 30s but looks about 10.  he is very enthusiastic and calming. 

it is no surprise then that in this hotel where there are no en suite bathrooms and old beds. people feel happy and rested. the other hotel down the street is rapidly loosing custom because it tries to hard to be a swanky hotel.  where we were, they don't give a damn about what you think of them and as a result you become very fond of them. 

one morning at breakfast the father placed our toast on the table and said "there you go, MULTIRACIAL TOAST! can't be too careful these days" and disappeared into another room. i think for the rest of our lives, brown toast and white toast will be referred to in this way. 

we saw our house. it nearing the final stages, which makes the small mistakes even worse and more significant.  from the start we have clearly stated that we wanted things to flow smoothly. so imagine how furious mum was when she discovered that no one had thought about how the different flooring would inevitably be different heights. it's the simplest things. You want a smooth transition and instead you're told "oh yeah there be a 10mm step down we'll just cap the edge" no that wont do. thats not exactly smooth is it. 

anyway. after the weekend we went to my uncles. i love his house it was the house he shared with my granny and the house my granny inherited from HER mother who was given it as a gift from a wealthy uncle. it used to be a barn and was one of the first barn conversions in the country.  i had a bit of a cold but decided to say an extra day and help my uncle with the hedges. i stayed until Tuesday afternoon.  long story short I'm only now (a week and a half later) recovering from the cold. i missed a dear friends shindig/gig/party because of it when i told her i wouldn't make it. her response was "don't worry i had a summer cold recently and it lasted forever these things do in summer." 

and that got me thinking. winter is seen as the dead part of the year where its cold and nothing save the evergreens grows. but you know what? 

in the winter my colds last two days and then I'm fine. in the cold my family and i huddle round the fire reading and talking. in winter we crunch through snow and giggle and laugh and build snowmen.  in the summer?

in the summer we are all over the place holidaying in separate places going to festivals, suffering from hay-fever or asthma. in summer my parents are told that they aren't allowed to be in their own house with out a builder or project manager present. in summer i have wasps dive bombing me fighting for my lunch. the other week someone online told me to kill myself. no doubt the twit had spent to long out in the sun got sunburnt and decided to take it out on me. 

so the summer isn't as fun as we fool ourselves into thinking. and yet. you can't help loving it. 

this has been a long rant. but i felt like ranting so i did. 

hope everyones having a nice summer :D