Bugging out

Well, we're finally getting that barbecue summer weather the Met office suggested we might get back in June.   Last couple of weeks have been very pleasant and our walk today revealed some stunning views, with crystal clear air and a total absence of flies, at least until the sun started waking them up, when they made up for lost time.

Of course, we're not really designed for heat.  Given the temperature range that exists in the Galaxy, we can only survive in a surprisingly tiny portion - about thirty or so degrees, actually, and that depends on having clothes for the lower end of the range. For most folk, 30C is about the most they can take for any length of time, although in some of the hotter regions of our planet temperatures of 50C have been recorded. At that temperature, any sort of strenuous activity becomes rather difficult, which is why life moves slowly in equatorial countries and the Spanish have a siesta.

Most of us prefer the temperature to hover around the mid-20s;  pleasantly warm without becoming oppressively hot. But constant temperatures like that bring the irritations of flies, midges, wasps and various other delights of nature to ensure that the idyllic picnic by the river's edge you'd planned for that evening becomes a running battle to eliminate the army of bugs that simply lie in wait for the unsuspecting visitor to get settled, before homing in with a precision envied by the designers of the Tomahawk missile.

Which is why autumn can seem so delightful. Wonderfully sunny days, clear, cold nights and all of that lacking the swarms of things that seem destined, if not downright anxious, to outlive the human species. It does, of course, mean having that picnic garbed in an outfit more suited to polar exploration, but that possibly beats spraying yourself with enough Deet to eliminate Mexico's fly population.

In the end, however,  it's probably the British Weather with its seasons that makes life so interesting.  The delight of a cool spring, with new growth and attractive hedgerow wild flowers, bringing a profusion of colour and random shape to the countryside, as it merges imperceptibly with summer's long days and sometimes hot temperatures, fades only with the onset of late summer, when the plants start to look tired, the insects assume dominance and we wait impatiently for the onset of Autumn.  In turn, the reddening trees, casting off their autumnal shades, lose their wind resistance in preparation for the low pressure vortices that sweep in from the Atlantic, bringing the winter storms and torrential rain.

There's something nice about that, too, as we sit inside, warm and cosy around the fire, watching the nights lengthen and Christmas approach. By March, we're getting fed up with the cold rain and wind and - hey! Here comes Spring.