Tuesday August 29, 2006
There’s no denying it. Summer is coming to an end, and Autumn’s on the way. The leaves are turning, there’s a distinct chill morning and evening, and in between it’s no longer comfortable to wander about in a t-shirt. I pulled a jacket out of the wardrobe this morning and was glad of it even at mid-day, when I got out of the car at the carpark at Sainsbury’s.
I’ve no real idea how it works but supermarket carparks are always bleak, either too hot, too windy, or too cold.
When I got to the house it felt less than completely comfortable, too, so I pressed the little button that turns the heating on for an hour and then switches off, in case you forget. Useful feature, that.
But when I got back to the holiday camp I found that the end of summer really has arrived. All but a tiny number of the grockles have disappeared, overnight, almost. It’s like a ghost town and the very few intrepid holiday makers left over huddle together, whispering, wondering where all the fun has gone. Poor Graham was wondering, too. Wondering what to do with the acres of time and space left unpopulated by demanding customers.
“I’m not sure I know how to cope with this,” he said.
“You’ll have to learn to sit down all over again.”
“No. Not an ‘Eeek’. When you take the weight off your feet you’ll find that it’s more of an ‘Aaah’.”
Even so he had some difficulty getting to realise that the main grockle season has come to an end, and summer with it.
Standing in the bar this evening, waiting for today’s load of laundry to finish drying, I did what I could to help.
“There you are,” I said. “That proves it. The sun is setting behind the headland. Last time you had time to look it was setting into the sea.”
“Yikes. You’re right. Where did the summer go?”