Yesterday was the first day of spring and what a truly wonderful day it was. The birds were singing, the sun was shining and yet all I could bloody think about was the fact that the summer is coming and I am nowhere near being beach ready yet. Sigh!
I know that as problems go, it is hardly up there with conflict in the Middle East or innocent children being gunned down in France and for this whinging diatribe, I am more than likely to earn myself a spot in hell but I am sure that I am not alone in my misery. With the arrival of the first days of spring, women of the capital are faced with a dilemma. Gym or pub?
It’s strange because the sun comes out and as if by magic gym canvassers appear on every street corner. Just walking to the tube station in Holborn has become an assault course as I try to avoid the guys and gals wearing sports gear which allows them to blind us with their muscular calves as they thrust gym information into our hands. I know it may not appear the case but I do actually frequent the gym more than once a week so I find this insulting. It does nothing other than fuel my concerns over my extra winter pounds.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt that if I was a little less fond of the cider then tiny cut-off denim shorts would be my best friend but alas, as soon as the sun comes out, those beer gardens just keep calling my name. Female Londoners face a vicious cycle of staring forlornly at the pages of Stylist, which feature nothing but skinny teenagers, to resolutely vowing not to eats carbs ever again, to having one eye on the clock and one eye on the window making sure that the sun doesn’t disappear before they can make it to the pub in time to enjoy at least one drink in the dying light. There is just something so wonderful about drinking in the sunshine.
Spring is one of the best times to be in London. People are waking up from their winter haze, patting themselves on the back for making it through the months of misery that December, January and February bring and now we are at the other side, ready to party. No matter how much that bikini is taunting you from the depths of your underwear drawer, I defy any Londoner to opt for a salad over a glass of wine in the sunshine. It’s just not in our nature.
Image by DigitalCHET courtesy of Flickr