summer blog
Rosy Ramblings

The weird and wonderful British summer

I went to a garden party at the weekend, and although I’m well aware of the renowned British weather, it is July after all, so without much thought I threw on a cute summer dress, with a statement necklace and sandals.

A look which screamed summer and that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you’re sipping on a glass of homemade pimms. Now, I’m a notoriously ‘cold’ person, I feel the cold so easily, and spend most of the winter with the heating on full blast, wrapped up in my onesie and dressing gown (apart from those all-important nights out, of course!)

It took me an hour, maybe less. One whole hour without complaining or moaning that I was cold, or having to openly admit to all my family, that yes, I had messed up on the outfit choice and jeans and a jumper would have been a much wiser choice.

Outdoors/garden parties can be hard to dress for; it was my cousins 18th celebration, so a special occasion. To me this means dressing up and looking smart, but I think next time I attend anything remotely ‘outdoorsy’ the good old, trusty jeans will have to play a part.

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My auntie and cousin came to the rescue with a pair of black leggings, which obviously matched my outfit, and a woolly cardigan which I wrapped myself up in; I love that feeling of being cosy and snug, but I don’t usually embrace it at a party!

My cousins’ friends turned up about 10pm, and by this point the temperature was well below 10 degrees; this isn’t a fact, don’t worry, I didn’t specifically check, but it’s a guess, and it’s definitely how I felt! Ha

The girls were dressed in shorts, skirts, dresses or crop tops as they were going out afterwards – they must have been FREEZING!! I felt for them, and even made a comment about their lack of clothing and how cold they must be.

Not quite sure when it happened…

When did I start commenting on lack of clothing?! I’ve spent years going out in ‘next to nothing’ as my mother would say, but here I was, wrapped up in my leggings and comfy cardi, tutting and feeling sorry for these girls.

When did it stop being me?!

I hit a moment of hard realisation… I wasn’t 18 anymore, and at 23, the only thing I cared about that evening was being warm.

So British summer, you big tease; you well and truly fooled me this time… THIS TIME.

As I make my way through my twenties, it’ll be interesting to see how often the looks Vs comfort battle comes into play and which path I choose to follow.

I’m sure it’ll be a very different story to the one my 18 year old self would have told.

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