I swear when I was younger summers were better. I had what seemed like an eternity off school and I loved it. Long, late night bike rides, evenings staring up at the stars and ephemeral, deep conversations about the meaning of life and the quest for love.
But now I come home and fall asleep in my chair.
Is it because I’m growing up and living in the real world a bit more? Or is it because we haven’t actually had a summer as of yet?
Whatever the reason I feel like I’m missing out.
I want beautiful sunsets, chilled pints of cider and tight hugs. I want to wear shorts and cover myself in sun cream and chuck water at peolple. I want a summer.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the other seasons too. In fact, summer is not my favourite season: winter is. I love the crispness of winter and the mysticality of it all.
I guess I want that idealistic summer where time passes slowly and you love every second of it: the kind of summer that you reflect on when you’re 80.
But this year I’m working right until the end of August and I’ve got little else planned.
But trust me, I’m going to make this summer a good one.