Brendan O'Connor: 'You're our summer now, Maura'
OK. Joke's over. Somebody clearly didn't get the memo. Certainly, there was a time when this would have been acceptable. There would have been a time when we wouldn't have complained. But that is not who we are any more. We've changed.
Last year we saw the limitless possibilities of how life could be and who we could be. And we liked what we saw. And we don't want to go back in our box.
We accepted the fairly crappy May. There was the odd nice weekend there that offered hope. And we almost took them for granted, those nice weekends. These were just a taster, we thought, of what was to come. We didn't even make that old stupid joke we used to make about a nice weekend in May, that this was our summer. No, summer was still to come. And whether it was down to global warming or whatever, it was going to be a scorcher, because that's what we have now. We have hot summers, and we all become outdoor, sexy Mediterranean types.
We kind of accepted the first week in June being bad as well. After all, summer doesn't always come exactly on schedule. But the second week has tipped us over the edge. We are not happy.
When it comes to the weather, Irish people have always had a great gift for hope. In a bad year we will wait right up to the end of September, always sure it's just around the corner. Hopes of summer damp down to hopes of an Indian summer. Years of disappointing weather somehow never turned us into pessimists. But one good summer made us not only optimistic, but actually entitled. It would come. It has to come. Last year we actually bought summer clothes, new barbecues, new outdoor furniture, all the accoutrements of this new life we were going to have.
But we'd be lying if we said we weren't getting worried now. It's not just the chilly weather, the central heating being on, the lighting of fires by some people. It's the rain. We can convince ourselves it's summer even when it's not sunny, but it's that bit harder when you're battling through driving rain. The truth is that in the deepest recesses of our hearts, some of us would prefer a drought, prefer to be spying on the neighbours who were using a garden hose.
You'll notice the weather forecasters have tempered the way they present the outlook. They've stopped saying next week won't be much better, and instead are saying next week will be a bit better - a slightly nicer way of saying the same thing. They knew we were close to the edge, that we needed some good news.
Right now, the only thing making it summer for us is Hurricane Maura, a Gael force from Longford, that is creating an area of high pressure in Love Island. You're our summer now, Maura. Don't mess it up.