As I write this, the weather outside my window at Edmonds Towers looks uncertain. How very British!
It might nearly be the start of June and summer holidays, but we’ve still got a rack of winter clothes handy in our hall, along with umbrellas and, more hopefully, sandals and sun-cream.
For, as we say in this green and pleasant land, you never know!
Last Sunday summed it up after an unsettled Friday, then wet Saturday. On Sunday morning, at Great Marton, we were phoned by friends already enjoying a walk between Cleveleys and Fleetwood.
“We can see the mountains of the Lakes, across the bay,” they told us, adding, “what a wonderful day!”
After a spell in the garden, I donned tennis gear around lunch-time and headed the opposite way along our varied coast.
By Fairhaven, dark clouds were massing above the Irish Sea. As I joined other sporting hopefuls at Lytham, the first raindrops were falling. Cricket was abandoned for ‘tea’ and tennis racquets covered again.
Wrapping up well, I walked across the Green and strolled towards Granny’s Bay.
Halfway I had to shed my anorak and wipe perspiration from my brow.
How spectacular the estuary looked, now bathed in sunlight!
Back to tennis I hurried, managing a long set – before another deluge. Still, there was always the friendly bar to shelter in – and bemoan bank holiday weather.
By the time I had returned to Blackpool, so had the sun.
When I lived in Australia, you could guarantee day-long sunshine, month after month. It drove me mad, dreaming of a spring shower or bright winter’s day back here.
In the Far East, humidity was so high that a short run for a bus left you a dripping wreck.
No, for me, the English seasons have it all . . .
You just don’t know which one our weather will give you!
n For books and more muses from Roy, visit www.royedmonds-blackpool.com.