Unlike the vast majority of my British brethren, I am not a fan of the beginning of summer. It always leaves me feeling somewhat confused, unsure and wary. I am not sure what to do with it, how to treat it, how to react to it and the sudden explosion of British heat-induced optimism. It is too bright, too warm, too full of people desperate to sun themselves. Of course these are feelings and reactions that fade fairly quickly, but I always have them to begin with.
I am completely at home when autumn and winter strike. I love the feeling of the cold wind, the rain, the muted colours and the relative quiet.
The best bits for me about summer are the hills and mountains, the forests and woods, the coastlines with their meandering paths. I love walking in the summer as much as in the winter, maybe even more so.
The last two years have seen me walking the Pembrokeshire coastal path in July. This year I will be waiting until September to do this, and this time I will b&b/hostel it instead of carrying my tent and food, etc. I cannot wait. Three and half hours on the train, less than an hour on the bus and I will be in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.
I guess this is what summer means to me now; heat and breeze, the trail, gorgeous views, early mornings in the sunshine, the sounds of wind, water and nature at her finest. And me in the midst of it all.