
Read about English Summertime...Wow. English summertime begins. It seems a bit forward to me to think of making such a claim so early in the year, but as the daffodils are already blooming, who am I to say? I thought maybe I’d stumbled onto a lovely English holiday where elderly, blue-haired women fret that their flowers won’t be blooming in time this year as they fret every year, and everyone watches the weather report to see if it will be sunny for the annual festivities, which I imagine includes a trip to the beach and an ice cream cornetto (cone) and maybe even some frolicking in fields of flowers or the Yorkshire moors. I mean, who uses the word ‘summertime’ besides song writers and children’s book writers? It really does conjure up happy thoughts.
I was crushed when a neighbour told me that it is, in fact, my very least favourite day of the year: the day we ‘spring forward’ an hour, as my mother says, thereby having a full hour of sleep cruelly stolen from us. We call it Daylight Savings Time, they call it Summer Time. Alas. I like my plans for the 30th of March much better.
(And while I am on the topic of holidays and traditions, how come no one told me before Christmas that a pantomime show is a well-loved English Christmas tradition? I missed seeing Aladdin at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle by a matter of weeks. Any show my co-workers affectionately call ‘The Panto’ is worth my attention. I am so disappointed.)
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