A couple of weeks ago, it snowed so hard in Cornwall that you could even make out the flakes falling in the nine hundred Instagram stories I and my Cornwall pals (they exist) posted within a two hour period. And, I mean, I’m no Carol Kirkwood, but I do happen to know that it has to be snowing a lot for people to be able to make out snowflakes on an Insta story. I was, as has been previously mentioned on this blog because I am famed for my inability to let things go, not impressed.
I only bring it up now to give context to my excitement as I announce the first outing of my sandals for this year.
Yes. While the rest of the country was sitting under grey clouds and heavy rain, Cornwall had a beautiful weekend. I went paddleboarding twice, there were barbecues, and I even had to put on suncream. Although, to be fair, that says less about the strength of the sunshine and more about my never-changing pastiness. Walking along the sea front, I made eye contact with strangers (not a stabbable offence in Falmouth) and we would exchange looks of “I know! I don’t believe it either!”. I had to take my jacket off.
Last year (in fact, this time last year) I arrived in Falmouth to find summer already in full swing. It ended early in a frankly unnecessary deluge of rain and flash floods and all kinds of damp and cold. But this year, I know what I have to look forward to, because those first couple of months of beautiful weather were great.
It makes a nice change to be excited about summer. Back when I lived in London I enjoyed the nice weather up until around late spring, but then the humidity would arrive, and the bad-tempered, sweaty men on the northern line would take up even more room while manspreading, and the air felt like it had somehow thickened in the heat, which was a phenomenon I had always previously assumed was reserved for sauces alone.
I would leave the house sweaty, remain sweaty all day, and spend the nights trying to balance my need for a fan to keep me cool with my need for a duvet to protect me from axe-wielding maniacs and underbed monsters. And sure, you could go and sit in a park, but so would several thousand other people, and you can’t squeeze several thousand people anywhere in oppressive heat without somebody (me) losing the will to live along with all of the moisture in their body.
So I suppose what I’m trying to say is: Cornwall – 1, London, 0.
Oh, and I’m wearing sandals to work tomorrow.