It is a truism that British people talk about the weather an awful lot. This has more to do with the fact we get an awful lot weather rather than we are all so stiff we can't talk about anything else. If you live in L.A. you can predict the weather with a certain degree of accuracy. Hot. Sunny. Hotter. Sunnier. Overcast in June. That's pretty much your lot. Here you'll get the proverbial four seasons in one day, sometimes five. Take today for instance. When I took this picture about 20 minutes ago it was raining like a monsoon, fork lightning streaked across the slate grey sky. Now, as I type the sunshine in streaming in through the window and I can smell the herbs in the garden. The temperature seems to veer wildly up and down and you're constantly putting layers on and then peeling them off minutes later.
And that's just perfect. With July in London being positively California like we were robbed our traditional summer. The temperature soared and we all bitched about the heat, the lack of air conditioning and traveling by tube. The sun sh0ne hard and we all wilted in minutes. We are just not built for it. We're built for summer days with the occasional shower of rain; refreshing and fun. Laughter as we scamper under shelter, rescuing what we can of picnics, tending to a barbeque under a golf umbrella, peering out of doors until the rain passes, summer dresses drying against sun brushed skin, giving in and just enjoying getting wet and stealing a rain soaked kiss.