Sweating and Moaning

A moan: there are times when the English summer weather is perfectly foul. It rained last night, just a little. Today was warm but not hot. It was humid. It was grey. The clouds were ominous but you could tell they weren’t going to do anything apart from make it feel oppressive. You could cycle, you could walk, you could do both; whatever you did, it was sweaty. Not in the good ‘you know you’re working hard’ way, but in the sticky, uncomfortable way.

And there’s nothing you can do about it, and there’s no point moaning. So, why moan? I was with Charli today and we both complained about it, totally without point. All we were doing was making the obvious explicit. There are times when I despair of the kind of basic, nuts-and-bolts, day-to-day stupidity I’m capable of. It didn’t stop us doing anything. Get on with it and get over it; make the most of it.

And now I’m moaning about moaning. Argh.

An oppressive sky seen from Lardon Chase, Oxon.

A view from Lardon Chase