Due to it being February and therefore the weather is rainy and grim or crisp and unbearable, it is safe to say I think of The Summer Promise more often than I probably should and I do not doubt that I am not the only one. When I was younger The Summer Promise was the six weeks that concluded the school year and was a time to eat ice-cream all day with my friends or just be bored all day. It would be perfect. As I became older I, like a lot of teenagers got caught up in the fantasy of the perfect summer. I am a huge book, music and film fan and they often create the picture of sandy beaches and strawberry-picking and, obviously, a beautiful romance.
Reality, however, is often incredibly different: boring English weather with the occasional glimpse of sun; a lack of motivation; the complete contradiction to how it should be.
I want to make daisy-chains, sit on the beach and listen to music and, more importantly I want to have no worries. Instead, the ominous mist of exams and pressure is spread out before me. A shadow of gloom and doom. It will pass though and between now and summer we will have English early, promising bursts of outrageously warm summer days and I, for one, cannot wait.
The Summer Promise will still be pumping through my veins throughout the months of February, March and early April: the expectation of Ryan Gosling sweeping me off my bare feet with an anklet; staying up with friends with ginger beer and pizza (I am definitely picturing a Mallory-Towers-esque scene); endless pretty clothes. Oh well.
And I'll keep holding on to The Summer Promise with my winter-coloured hands,
Lemonade & Sequins,
The Girl in the Moonlight.
P.s. We're all in this together (you sang it, don't deny it: GO WILDCATS).