St. Swithin's Day, 2013

Anne Hathaway's cottage, Straford-upon-Avon

I've resurfaced on a different continent, persuaded out to play by the sun...

I am soaking up the summer heat, savouring every cloudless day. I’d forgotten the delights of summer: soft whispers of a breeze on a balmy evening, cherries, languid lounging on lawns, lying on my back, hypnotised by a pale ocean of blue, barbecues on the common, Test Match special trivialities and trifle, Pimms and Wimbledon, grown up children spinning like sycamore keys, handstands and outdoor concerts.

Priorities melt in the warmth. We just want to sit, and gaze and savour. The amiable sun coaxes us out of our hidey holes, away from our goals, out of insulated isolation, briefly we’re a gregarious nation. We are children, given to the present. Perhaps climate really does shape national character?

I wish for as many days over 25 degrees as we’ve had days under 5 this year.