Is this what summer is supposed to feel like?

I’m currently writing this post on my laptop, from a sunny seat in the garden, and I’m not going to lie, but this is pretty much how I always imagined my working life would pan out – only in my childhood imaginings I always thought I’d be writing books, rather than blogs, obviously. And that I’d be much better looking. And, I mean, in a totally ideal world, I’d probably be sitting on a balcony somewhere in the south of France, say, with a cold glass of champagne by my elbow, rather than in a suburban garden, with a building site right next to it. So, now I come to think of it, it’s not even remotely how I imagined my life working out, really, but hey: it IS sunny, and that, in itself, is reason to celebrate, as far as I’m concerned.

So, we’re currently about a week and half into what passes for a Scottish “heatwave”, which means we’re finally getting to experience what “summer” feels like – in some cases for the first time in living memory. I mean, I think I remember some reasonably warn summers when I was a child, but then again, doesn’t everyone feel like their childhood was always sunny? And while I’m pretty sure I remember drinking a lot of wine in Princess Street Gardens as a student one summer, it could just have been lot of wine, rather than a lot of days on which this actually happened, if you know what I mean?

So, yeah, I just don’t know, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and declare that this is the longest spell of warm weather I can remember: if not in my lifetime, exactly, then in a very, very long time, at least. In fact, I feel like I’ve never actually experienced a “proper” British summer, like the ones you always see in movies, or on TV. Those long, lazy, sun-filled days have never lasted more than a week for us Scots. We’ve always had to go abroad if we want to see the sun for more than a few days at a time: so, at a time when foreign travel still feels like an impossible dream to me, I guess it’s only right that the Weather Gods should finally smile upon us, and grant us a real summer at home, instead.

And what have I been doing with all this gloriously warm weather, I hear absolutely nobody ask? Er, not much, to be totally honest. Because it might feel a bit like a holiday, but, of course, it’s not one: there are still bills to pay, children to raise (Well, one child, but it sometimes feels a bit like I have a hundred of ’em…), and a millionty-one magnet shapes to pick off the living room floor every morning, but we’ve been doing all of these things in the sunshine for once, and wow, but it’s been good for the soul.

People are always surprised to hear it – we redheads aren’t exactly know for our tolerance for the sun, after all – but I’m a total sun-worshipper. I live for it. I love everything about it. Waking up with sunlight streaming through the open window. Going to bed when it’s still light out. (Because the sun doesn’t set here until almost 10pm at this time of year, I mean, not because I sleep during the day, although I wish…) Drinking my morning coffee in the garden. Wearing dresses again. Being able to leave the house without a dozen different layers of clothing. Constantly feeling like we’re not making the most of the weather, and OMG, shouldn’t we be out #MAKINGMEMORIES or something right now? Shouldn’t we, though?

Of course, all good things must come to an end, though, and it’s with a heavy heart that I must inform my fellow sun lovers that yesterday morning, emboldened by the continuing warm weather, I finally cracked and ordered Max some more summer clothes: an act that, given my past form, will almost certainly have triggered the end of the Scottish heatwave. I’m so very sorry.

I leave you, then, with my apologies, plus this photo of a really strangely-shaped strawberry:

These photos were taken last week, at Craigies Farm, near Edinburgh, where we went for a spot of fruit-picking one morning. It was lovely: I would totally recommend it, in fact, if I didn’t know that the dry spell is due to come to an end this weekend, just in time for Max’s new clothes to arrive. Damn.

Until then, if anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting in the garden, getting gradually more freckly with every minute that passes. And if someone could bring me out that cold glass of champagne, that would be just grand…