I’m sitting in a field. Wait, there’s more, I promise. There’s a festival type situation going on around me (and it’s for Christians so you know it’s deeply cool…) which is the primary reason why I’m here, waiting like a good little girl for a scheduled talk. We’re slap bang in the end of the middle of August so naturally I’m swathed in a massive scarf, shivering helplessly and clutching a steaming cup of tea. Not to mention the tiny tartan umbrella resting on the ground beside me ready to be unfurled at a moment’s notice.
Of course I came prepared for inclement weather. There’s a thicker cardigan and a jacket stuffed in my bag but for now I’m clinging firmly to my stubbornness (in the hope that it will keep me warmer) by refusing to don them because it’s going to get colder. I won’t feel the benefit later if I put them on now. Logic. Or something.
Every now and then there’s burst of truly glorious sunshine to briefly warm me like a delicious scone on a plate (there are a lot of food vans around). I know I’ll cave sooner or later. I might well be better at dealing with the chill as opposed to the heat (it’s a good thing I live in England then. Otherwise I’d be reduced to a burbling puddle for a large proportion of the year) but even I am not so unfeeling.
My wardrobe is experiencing something of an all or nothing situation. It’s far too early in the year to bring out my massive coat and I haven’t got a clue where my waterproof is. If indeed I still have one. Oh that’s just perfect, the rain has come. Where’s the beer tent? Of course, as I finish scribbling this in said canvas abode, the sun’s come out in real force. She’s a terribly fickle bitch, English weather. But let me ask you this, who’s got an overpriced half pint of cider?