Monday 16th September

After the truly wondrous summer we are slap bang back into our usual weather.  Cold, wet and miserable.  It was, of course hot in France – that was to be expected.  But once or twice arriving back in England I was pleasantly surprised  by the warm sunshine beaming down as I came down the plane steps.  It was the warmest summer here for many a year.  Depending on which statistics you read, for about a decade or so.  And why not?  Why should we not have good weather occasionally.

But here is the strange thing; it is almost as if we feel we do not deserve it.  Self-esteem is so low here in Britain at the moment.  Yes, we did splendidly well in the Olympics, and Andy Murray won Wimbeldon, but who amongst us was not surprised that he lost in New York.  Nobody expects or even thinks we might have a chance of winning the World Cup, not only soon, but ever.

Maybe it is our politician’s fault; telling us how we have overspent, underachieved, gotten ourselves into debt, and almost that we deserve Austerity.  Self denigration used to be an art-form, but lately it has just become another of our dirty little habits.

And so we aren’t at all surprised when storm clouds threaten, when those angry waves of white cloud come dashing in from the West, when we are warned of possibly hurricane force winds, when we reach into the wardrobe for our winter coats, wrap another scarf wround our necks, batten down the hatches and accept that all to soon normal service has been resumed.