There are certain times of year when I am very happy that my home is in the Middle East. November is one, February the other. To me these were always the most depressing of months in the UK. November with only a bonfire and fireworks to brighten the dull grey skies and chilly long nights. The clocks are on winter time and the coats are out.
In Israel I finally pulled the duvets from their summer residence (the back of the cupboard) a week ago and to be fair we don’t really need them yet. I have been sporting jeans rather than shorts but again, through want, not necessity (everyone else is in Autumn clothes so me too). This morning is the first morning the childers requested a sweatshirt to go to nursery in. It is in fact 24 degrees and sunny and tomorrow’s forecast is 29 degrees. Am I gloating? Yes, a little. I think that it is small recompense for all the other crap I deal with from ‘choosing’ to live here.
We have spent the last three Saturdays at a beautiful beach just south of Haifa with assorted friends, buckets and spades, picnics and swimming costumes (the childers anyway, end of September signals the end of my desire to wear a bikini) and I am glad that I am not looking forward to the next ‘100 days of Arctic conditions’ in the UK. I am happy that I am not leaning against a radiator that’s covered in drying socks, getting chilblains when returning home from work. I do slightly miss the need for a winter coat and boots but hell, I can get over that and wear them anyway come January when (if) the thermometer dips below 16.
Next month when I am mourning the loss of Christmas and fairy lights I would do well to remind myself of the joy of being able to pick strawberries in November, wearing flip flops and sunning my shoulders. If any one ever needs a time to come to visit, now is it, leave the cold and grey behind and feel the warm again.