British people always regard themselves as being obsessed with the weather. I don't know whether we really are - after all, we don't often get extreme weather that threatens safety. Quite the opposite - it's often coolish or warmish or wettish or dryish. But it's not predictable. You can't plan on having a party or wedding outside. It might be nice. Or it might not.
Yesterday, for example, it was a bit drippy in the morning but in the afternoon the sun shone. You couldn't call it exactly hot, but as Mr Life and I walked home, westwards, from town, it was almost dazzling and he was a bit warm in his jacket.
Today it's dull and rather chilly. One's fingers think nostalgically of gloves and one's nose is slighly nipped. I went to the Co-op and the lady in front of me in the queue said to the lady behind the counter: "D'you think that's the summer over now?"
She nodded gloomily. "And I can't remember which day it fell on."
PS Now, in the afternoon, it's sunny and I've been sitting in the garden. With my cardigan on, mind you. But the washing's drying nicely on the line.