Wednesday, 15 March 2006


I could almost smell summer outside today for the first time!

What could be better.
When I first met J, I told him my dream was to spend the summer with him.

And now we're coming up for our second one; it's more than I really dared to hoped for back then, although I didn't admit that even to myself.

He's seeing his therapist today, who will most likely tell him that he's an idiot for not moving in with me yet (although in a therapeutic way, of course).

Maybe by next year I'll have my vegetable garden. And he can have his piano, although financially that's maybe a bit less feasible.

But summer. It's so wrong how the English summer is always described, as wet and grey, when in actual fact it's hot, dry and long, leaving fields burnt and aching for rain (The Thames Water hosepipe ban goes to prove that the UK isn't as wet as we'd like to think it is).

I am looking forward to spending short nights in bed, sticky and only covered with a cotton sheet, all protruding parts of mine sticking to the appropriate equivalents of J.

I am looking forward to making love in the dark, then opening the curtains at four in the morning and seeing that it's almost light outside.

And long, wet kisses where J's skin tastes of salt and sea water.

And wearing short skirts, with no underwear. Except to work, of course...

So today I'm going home to have cheese and wine with my flat mate, we'll sit inside and pretend it's warm outside, and we'll talk of dry grass and neverending evenings.

And then maybe a quick call to J, who will be at work, telling him exactly what he'll be missing if we don't last through till September.


  1. That's quite an appealing picture you paint... I remember summer in England as a little of both those things, hot and sweaty, cold and bitter. I liked this post; I know that kind of love.

  2. now that's an amazing PICTURE!!!

    can't wait for summer myself.


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