I have always felt that I’ve never celebrated summer solstice with sufficient flair. In my imagination it would be spent picnic-ing on strawberries and champagne at dusk followed by spending the night under the stars. Consult Elspeth Thompson for inspiration, my current favourite bedtime read.
The gap between this fantasy and reality was especially stark this cloudy chilly morning as I left for work extra early to meet a pressing deadline. Arriving home tonight to warm sunshine with two little girls desperate to get into the garden felt better. Stepping outside I saw that the first sweetpeas of the season were ready to be picked and inhaled, a small midsummer happiness. Then Eve threw up everywhere and we’ve been nursing her back to full fettle, hardly noticing the milky blue sky. Happy solstice anyway!