My mother proudly told me that the last time March had been so cold, she was four years old. Whilst this is quite an impressive statistic, I would much rather March had been the warmest month for fifty years. Don’t misunderstand me; I love winter. My perfect day is a frost covering everything and sparkling under a winter sun. However, Spring arrives mentally in March. The change in the hour and Easter set off synapses in my brain so each morning I jump out of bed and draw back the curtains with a flourish, hoping to be rewarded by the sun streaming through my windows, blinding me. This March come and (thankfully) gone, not so. It was too cold to do ANYTHING except curse under my breath about the weather and ask myself everyday why I was doing no work.
This is my theory: I’m not claiming originality so don’t sue me, but I believe that the miserable weather British people suffer is almost single-handedly responsible for the complaining, giant umbrella’d individual foreigners believe us to be. A common conversation starter is a comment on the weather. Well, if all we have is bleak, grey, drizzling skies, the conversation is never going to be centered around the virtues of life, is it?
Last week Mum, Becky and I decided we should spend a day together. Thus arose the question of what to do – London was out of the question, because it was just too cold to rely on public transport and besides, if we were going to venture outside it would be for a few hours only to prevent us, god forbid, from catching hypothermia. Eventually we decided on Windsor. Off we trundled, car seater warmers ON, and coat buttoned up to my forehead.
That day proved to me, that actually, weather does not make or break a day. We three spent a wonderful day wandering around the quaint streets of Windsor. I noticed there was a flag flying at Windsor Castle and Mum saw that the State Apartments were closed, so we jovially contented ourselves with the fact that we were, like, super close to the Queen. We saw the Changing of the Guard and lost ourselves in the exquisite market which I will be returning to in summer to buy things for my house next year.
We also stopped for lunch at Gourmet Burger Kitchen. I have never been there, so this was a new experience. I had the cheese burger with the addition of a dill pickle (because in my opinion, a burger is not a burger without a gherkin slice) and Becky had the chicken and bacon one. Mum had the house salad. Last minute, I realised I could order mine medium rare instead of medium and this was a great decision of mine. The meat was pink and tender, melting in my mouth like snow. The relish, cheese and gherkin added all the flavour needed, so I only used ketchup sparingly and rarely, probably out of habit (ketchup is my go-to, I have it with everything).
Mum’s salad went down well, especially with the spiced salt which is a house recipe and adds great flavour. Becky, likewise was satisfied. GBK I hope to return one day.
What that day showed me, was that we should not be put off by the weather. I need to make the most of my time – each day only comes once. That day was well spent.