Yesterday it reached 28ºC in London, while only a week ago I feel like I was complaining that it was closer to 10ºC. It’s quite a bit hotter than I’m used to and much more reminiscent of living in Mexico than Guernsey (where a cursory glance at the forecast tells me the island climes will struggle to break the 20ºC barrier this week), but I am absolutely loving it. Running and climbing have become altogether sweatier affairs but are still thoroughly enjoyable, I’m yet to have any trouble sleeping, and am all round desperate to spend as much time as possible outside.
Which is pretty funny really. Only two or three years ago the opposite would’ve been true; I would’ve constantly sought shelter from the sun’s rays by being sat outside, on my computer. The weather wouldn’t bother me because the only way I had to manage my emotions was to try to dissociate from the real (and potentially sunny) world and enter a virtual one. Now the notion of deliberately choosing to spend time indoors on days like these feels intuitively very, very wrong. I think I’d get really depressed if I stayed inside, rather than the other way round. That sounds a lot like progress to me.