Here’s a picture of what summer looks like. It is from the other side of the world, and taken some six months ago. I still have about a 1000 pictures from that holiday to review, consider, photoshop and then toss in the virtual dustbin. Still it does remind me that some parts of the planet have seasons other than “cold rain“, “chilly hail” “3 month cloud” and “warmer rain with storms”
My drive up north tomorrow is showing as a day that could – if one were tending to the exceeding charitable – be classified as sort of summery. The first day we’re out riding however has Metcheck excited over the prospect of three inches of rain, a cloudbase of zero and a maximum temperature of ten degrees. Which sets the tone for the rest of the week.
So rather than sulk about it, I’ve packed everything that is marketed as even slightly waterproof. I intend to utilise these garments in the well known layering system of wearing everything at the same time. The downside is my car is absolutely packed to the gunwales (apposite term) with stuff and my airy promise to add a person, bike and luggage to the return trip may play out as “Right Andy, it’s you or your bike”
I have also managed to fit in an emergency haircut which ensures I don’t break the first rule of birthday drinks and pick up anything sharp “for a laugh” after many beers. Carol tells me my crown isn’t getting any bigger but this is somewhat offset by the retreating wave of folicles in front of it. I no longer need a hair style or even a combover – really my options are limited to a wig or a hat.
Assuming I can remember how to swim and my liver survives some serial action from the alcohol drip, I’ll be back in a week to tell of mighty epics and life threateneing situations while humming the theme from “The Man From Atlantis“.
Wish me luck, I’m going in.