Congratulations if you’re reading this. Congratulations because it means you’ve survived one of the most intense summers in living memory – or, as they say, since records began.
The Strait of Hormuz. 40º heat in June. The Pope’s visit. Wildfires. Domestic and foreign politicians more ‘mischievous’ than ever. An earthquake in Venezuela. We’re still at 40º in July. We finally made it through the quarter-finals and won the World Cup. More fires. Various price rises: the CPI, petrol, the cost of the weekly shop and, if you fancy travelling, flights, hotels and even a beer at the beach bar. The mass influx into Ceuta. 40º in August. Torrential rain. An earthquake in Colombia and flooding in Nepal. Not to mention the ongoing situation in Ukraine and the Middle East in turmoil. And as if that weren’t enough, even an eclipse! Although, as we go to press, at least there are no reports of UFO landings or new martian apparitions. Because that’s all we need.
Where have those monotonous summers gone, when the biggest news was football transfers or Obregón’s photo shoot? Those summers of street festivals, of waiting two hours for your food to settle before a swim, of the odd summer fling if you were lucky, of Georgie Damm’s hit and, in the neighbourhood, the 24-hour Repla festival.
What if you miss them? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Nostalgia is deceptive and, above all, pointless. But what I did appreciate about that sometimes even boring monotony was that sense that ‘nothing happens’ – or very little, anyway – which really did allow you to switch off and recharge your batteries, properly. Without mobile phones or social media; with family, with friends, with laughter…
