London 2012 may be remembered for certain sporting events, from Murray’s breakthrough to that rather big event happening down the road in a few weeks. But, right now, the thing that is most extraordinary, and depressing, about it is the weather: the endless, drought-defying floods (when are those f***ers going to stop saying ‘we are still in drought‘ after four months of constant rain?), the sense of loss that more than half the year has gone with nary a sign of sunshine (do I ever get to wear this year’s sandals? Or last year’s for that matter?) and, well, just a longing for that smell of warm skin and suncream that symbolises, even on our rain-soaked island, the freedom of longer days.
The unseasonality is playing havoc with the contents of my fridge: one day I think I might make a watermelon and feta salad and then, whoosh, the skies darken and open and I revert to thoughts of soup. I haven’t, yet, been tempted by soup, whether of the summer variety (too cold) or the usual (too dispiriting) but I’m finding it hard to be inspired by my habitual July fare of salads with a bit of protein thrown in now and again.
WTF Do I Eat Tonight? 