I have returned from a week in Cyprus, the weather back home is, shall we say, chilly. Of course I made the fools error of thinking because it’s sunny and baking hot in Cyprus, it will be the same come home time at Gatwick. In fact if truth be told I didn’t even consider the weather back home in ye olde England. I got off the plane, clad in teeny tiny denim shorts and a strappy top. The result – I shiver my way through Gatwick and out to the car park to complete the journey home, nursing a minor case of hypothermia.
But to be honest it’s to be expected, this is the UK after all. If we didn’t have the weather to complain about life just would NOT be fun! In fact bad weather and nice queue is enough to set any Brit off on a tyrannical rant about the injustice of it all, myself included. But if we consider just for a second the possibility of the UK being 35 degrees centigrade every day with blazing sunshine, nothing would ever get done. We would all switch our complaining to the heat rather than the rain, hail, sleet and whatever else we’ve been subjected to this July. So while a bit more sunshine would be nice, I’m kind of glad as sunshine for us brits is a treat not a right, it makes the whole experience feel much more like a true holiday!
My reasoning is based on last weeks trip to Cyprus. Every day was scorching, at least 35 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. I am not one for just sitting on the beach or by the pool, mainly for the reason that I am pasty white with freckles – the perfect recipe for a beetroot red sunburn after a mere half an hour outside. I am one more for exploring the local area, seeing the sights etc etc. And I have to say a week in Paphos delivered. The Tombs of the Kings, the medieval fort and the mosaics – all of which were a thrill for (and I don’t like to admit it) a history geek such as myself!
The Tombs of the kings are in fact not ‘tombs of the kings’ rather ‘tombs of government officials’. Set on a piece of coastal desert and carved into the rock, you can imagine the heat. It comes to something when you would rather sit in a tomb, a place of death, than in the sun to escape the heat. Of course my snow white skin was absorbing the heat (even though I’m not sure that is scientifically correct), my thighs were chaffing (because unfortunately I was not gifted with airbrushed supermodel legs) and my hair was making my neck hot. And I could feel that complaining energy coming. Having done nothing but moan that it was cold back home and ‘why didn’t we have any sun?’ I was about to fulfil my British stereotype and begin complaining about what I could, the heat. But I thought to myself right there and then, ‘I’m enjoying this’, ‘these tombs are interesting’, ‘why complain?’ And the same goes for the mosaics, the fort and the various other sights of Paphos.
The sun and the heat was all part of the experience, it made it a true holiday. But back home, our weather is all part of the British experience. Maybe it’s not sipping cocktails on the beach or by the pool, but that’s no ones reality, well not a regular person at least! I couldn’t imagine my normal job behind the bar and waiting on tables being particularly enjoyable in 35 degrees of heat. And of course it’s given me something to complain about, now I’m sat in a cardigan shivering, having returned home from a scorching Cypriot paradise. I joke of course …
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