Don't let anyone fool you, there is no such thing as an Irish summer. I remember back in April when the sky was blue, the sun was bright, there was a tingling warmth on my face and an optimistic glimmer in my heart that, this year, for once... just for once... we might enjoy a decent summer.
When I say decent summer, I don't mean 30 degrees or anything like that; simply some fairly frequent days when temperatures rose above 20 degrees and the skies was reasonably clear.
It's the middle of September now and we went from that bright day in Spring to winter in what seems like one fell swoop. In between there was some sort of overcast monsoon season, culminating in a storm last week (the remnants of Hurricane Katia) which demolished my greenhouse and vegetable garden (teeming with cues, courgettes and toms, albeit unripened from... you guessed it, a lack of sun).
During that period, I counted the days that could reasonably be called 'summer days'. There were two and half - one in June, followed by one and a half in July. There were none in August, which could be more likened to autumn, before winter set in this week.
All the time the forecasters said: 'Next week! Next week!', pushing back the heatwave forecast at the beginning of June, until it could be pushed back no more. Each time, another wave of 'muck' swept in from the Atlantic, pushed by the Gulf Jetstream that due to global 'warming' is lower than usual. In Ireland's case, global 'warming' has meant a colder more overcast summer.
And I have to admit, it's gotten me down. I miss the sun. This is my second consecutive year without a 'sun' holiday and I don't fare well in this climate. Traditionally, this was always the time of year I'd head off for my second trip of the year to Greece, but financial circumstances mean there's no chance of that happening this year.
So I think it's okay if I have a good old moan about that. Because, right now, the outlook is overcast with clouds on the horizon.
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