Yes, I realize that phrase is politically incorrect but I’m going to use it anyway. It’s an appropriate term for what has been happening here in London.
I hate the heat. Absolutely hate it. In my opinion, summer is one of the worst times of the year. Profuse sweating leads to ruined clothes, humidity frizzes my hair, and more often than not I see people trying to escape the oppressive heat by wearing nothing more than spandex. All of these things are frustrating and—the last in particular—are more than a little disgusting.
London is experiencing a heat wave at the moment. I mean, it’s October and it is hotter in London—foggy, windy, rainy, London—than it is in Virginia. I find this odd and frankly, I also find it distasteful.
Now imagine this: you’ve just gotten dressed in your internship best. Hair done, make up in place, and you’ve got a twenty-minute hike to the Tube station. This is how you start the day, but don’t worry, it’ll get better. But only after it gets worse.
Once you get to the Tube you’re crammed into a tiny tram with about fifty other people who are all dressed the same as you. Imagine all of that sweating, hair frizzing, and improper outfits crammed onto an already scorching Tube. The body heat combined with the natural heat makes it even worse than you think it is and before you know it you’re inhaling nothing but hot, stale, recycled, air. Imagine that being the case for fifty claustrophobic minutes and when you finally do manage to escape to your stop you’re blessed with a new appreciation for personal space and body deodorant. I assume it’ll get worse when winter actually arrives since people will not only have their day luggage but also bulky coasts. At least during winter when you exit the Underground you can find some relief in the cooling outdoor temperatures.
Distaste of the summer heat or no, I wasn’t going to let two perfectly sunny days in London go to waste. I spent my Friday in Brighton Beach, which was an easy hour away from London. All the day I ambled up and down a beautiful pebbled beach, drew in deep breaths of the sea air, saw the overactive pier, and even lazed about in the gardens of the Royal Pavilion. All in all, I could understand why people in the Regency Era went to Brighton to regain their health and vitality.
Sunday was just as peaceful and even sunnier. That day was spent in Green Park, St. James’s Park, and Hyde Park. I strolled down the Princess Diana Memorial Walkway, glanced towards Buckingham Palace (I’ve been in quite a few castles and after a while they all kind of look the same) went through the Rose Gardens, ran away from the ducks and swans on the Serpentine River, saw the Peter Pan statue, and all the beautiful scenery that came with it.
The heat should break by the end of the week, at the latest. I certainly hope so. I can’t believe that I’m actually missing the rain and gloomy fog as much as I do. All this sun has been wonderful but I truly hope that Mother Nature gets back to normal as soon as possible.