An Ode To The British Summer

Tell me the Brit’s are pessimists and I’ll show you their summer.
Miserable they are, unable to find solutions they are not,
This is a nation of disposable barbecues and shirtless men in the rain.
A land where 19 degrees is a cause of celebration, where sunbathers bask under a half blue sky.

Oh the British summer my June to August rainbow lover,
Not rainbows as in flowers, they’re all waterlogged from last week’s flood.
Rainbows from the 5 hours of rain and 10 minutes of sunshine,
Rainbows on umbrellas that brighten the never ending gray,
Rainbows on the little ‘uns wellies that you swore you would only need till April.

The British people are a people of faith.
Faith that the B&B booked for Brighton will not be their summer home,
Faith that the barbecue planned for next week will not end in rain despite what happened last year and the year before,
Faith that buying summer clothes will usher out the sun despite the fact that it didn’t work last year or the year before,
Faith that the new decking will be housed by dry garden furniture thought that didn’t happen last year or the year before.

We can have Summer without a day of sun, holidays spent making sandcastles with mud.
The disposable umbrellas in our bags our very armour, the shorts we buy in optimism a sign of our strength.
I defy you to to to agitate a Brit sipping Pimms, burger in hand,
Find me a summer where a predicted heatwave hasn’t set these isles into a weekend break booking frenzy.
Wimbledon induced tennis club memberships, overpriced strawberries on every edible thing
Tell me the Brit’s are pessimists and I’ll show you their summer.

 

 

 

 

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