The diary of almost everything

Every single year we do exactly the same thing.

We spend months wishing for summer. Then, the moment the thermometer climbs well above thirty degrees, flirts with thirty-eight and finally gives us exactly what we asked for, half the country immediately starts asking for autumn again. And yes, I’ll happily admit that thirty-eight degrees is probably where even I start negotiating with the sun. Twenty-eight degrees is still my personal sweet spot, but I’d rather be slightly too warm than wondering whether summer forgot my address altogether.

I genuinely love summer.
Not because I particularly enjoy feeling like a slowly roasting potato, but because sunshine simply makes life feel lighter. I also completely understand that thirty-eight degrees isn’t everyone’s idea of paradise, especially when the humidity decides to join the party. Heat like that can be exhausting, sleeping suddenly becomes a challenge and even walking to the supermarket feels like you’ve accidentally entered a tropical rainforest.

That’s probably another reason not to fight it. Nobody has ever won an argument with the weather.

You slow down a little, drink another glass of water, find some shade and accept that today simply isn’t the day to break any personal records.
That seems perfectly reasonable to me.

At work we were actually incredibly lucky. A few years ago an enormous climate control system was installed throughout the building. It cost an absolute fortune, involved months of renovations and enough builders wandering through the corridors to qualify as temporary colleagues, but the result is genuinely impressive. Parents regularly walked in saying, “Can I work here instead of my office?” and honestly… I completely understood them.

Of course, someone (me) had the perfectly sensible idea of asking whether the system could perhaps be set just a little colder.
It could. For approximately five minutes.
After that, one of the offices decided it would rather become an indoor swimming pool.

Apparently even multimillion-euro technology eventually reaches a point where it simply says, I’m doing my best.
Which, to be fair, was pretty much the mood of the entire country by Thursday.

The funny thing is that I’d spent the whole week telling myself I was finally going to the beach after work. Every afternoon another meeting appeared, another phone call came in or something else needed finishing before the end of the school year, and by Friday I’d accepted that the beach simply wasn’t happening that week after all. Instead I opened every window in my apartment, created the closest thing I could find to a sea breeze and promised myself I’d make up for it the following weekend.

Unfortunately, my apartment doesn’t have air conditioning. A few years ago the entire building was beautifully renovated and insulated, which is absolutely wonderful throughout winter because the warmth stays inside and the heating hardly has to work. The only tiny downside is that during a heatwave… the warmth also stays inside. Very enthusiastically. By evening my living room had developed the atmosphere of a Mediterranean greenhouse and opening every window became less of a choice and more of a survival strategy.

Somewhere around day three I also realised I’d started planning my evenings around whichever supermarket had the coldest watermelon, and at one point I genuinely considered whether dinner could simply consist of watermelon, strawberries and another iced coffee.

Honestly…
I still think that’s a perfectly respectable summer menu.

Even my Sphynx cats surrendered.
Now, if you own Sphynx cats you’ll know this is remarkable, because those creatures generally believe anything below twenty-six degrees is a personal attack. Mine usually disappear underneath blankets at the slightest excuse, but during the heatwave they were stretched across the floor like two tiny melted croissants, occasionally relocating themselves in front of the fan with expressions suggesting they’d personally filed a complaint against the sun.

The only thing capable of making them move at impressive speed was the unmistakable sound of me opening a water ice.
Apparently that’s everyone’s favourite hobby now.
The moment they hear the wrapper, they sprint towards me, stand on their back legs and use both paws in what can only be described as a coordinated attempt to lower my hand until they can steal a few licks.

I would love to tell you that I consistently refuse but that would be a lie.
Some battles simply aren’t worth fighting.

The weather will cool down again soon, as it always does, and before long we’ll all be wearing jumpers again, wondering where summer went and wishing for exactly the weather we’re complaining about today.

As for me, give me twenty-eight degrees, a beach nearby, an iced coffee, a bowl of fruit that somehow tastes better in the sunshine, two determined Sphynx cats trying to steal my water ice and absolutely no unnecessary stress, because if the weather has already decided to be thirty-eight degrees, there’s really no point in making life any hotter than it needs to be.

-Sophie Quinn