Exuberant Glee

Forgotten days

Of rain and beach

Riding on our inflatable double-mattress

borrowed from our tent

with my brothers in Cranfield

You tried to stay in the centre

otherwise, the waves knocked you into foaming fun

The screams, the laughter

the realisation

That joy is not dependent

On blue skies and sunshine

It springs from endeavours on challenging seas

Alongside loved ones

Exhilarated by the stolen roller coaster ride

Skin numb with cold

Hair tangled dripping ropes

Face red and wind whipped

The only idiots

In the sea

On a grey rain lashed shore

Buffeted by winds and waves

We scream our triumph

To the sea birds above

Adrenaline pumped

We ride the rough Atlantic waves

With exuberant glee

Joy wrestled from

grey skies and seas

What a glorious day!

A North Coast Walk on the Wildside

My father used to sit in his  favoured seat in the living room at the window overlooking the busy seaside resort. Coffee shops, ice cream parlours and tourists melted in an economically productive slurry a floor below. After his early morning 5 mile walk he enjoyed the quiet rest his corner seat offered. In fact he liked it so much he eventually wore out the carpet in front of his chair. But it was the treehouse quality he appreciated most. Being on the first floor the living room  is perched at the perfect position to allow you to people-watch or if you raise your head you see the sweep of the coast towards the Giants Causeway beyond. 

The beach stretches for miles in pristine condition with sand, sea and sky creating new masterpieces each hour. Even in the winter storms he would return triumphant that the wind had buffeted his 15 stone but not managed to blow him off his feet. How many others struggled along the church rails opposite hauling themselves along handover fist in the 70 mph gales. He loved these battles with the elements even in his 80s and his all weather kit and strong walking boots usually won the day. I find I share the same Northern Irish habits. You can be suddenly caught out by the weather on the distant headland. The clouds close in and the ferocious rain stings your face and your anorak flaps in foetal distress against your chest. At times to put one leg in front of the other seems a physical battle. Then from inside suddenly springs an ancient ancestor who seems to shout in delight “Bring on your worst! I can bear this and more!” 

You screw your courage and strength within and delight in this unexpected challenge. Lifting your face to the rain you feel eyelids sting with the downpour and your feet beat a heady tune in time with your heart. This is an ancient landscape not cultivated like smooth English downs nor pretty like chocolate box Swiss villages. It is rugged and edgy with bog pits that can kill and treacherous sheer cliff path's that erode continually. The waves can become angry mountains at the flick of grimace  both terrifying and awe inspiring. They, like the wind, beat upon this headland with relentless timeless fury. As I round the most exposed part of the coast I want to scream at my victory despite my numb fingers. At that moment it is as if I feel my father's feet beneath my own, his heart beating with mine in celebration of another triumphant victory on the north coast. Perhaps it was ever so. When times are easy we forget even ourselves. But when tests or hardship bombard us we are forced to remember the fundamentals. Who we are, those we love and who loves us.

Rain and resilience

First day back in Malta after six weeks in the UK. The heat feels such a shock. Even as I stepped out of the plane at 9 in the evening the temperature was incredible. You tend to forget when staying in the UK that in these southern climes it is the hot sweaty nights that surprise you.  Mind you, it is rich of me to complain so quickly, as in Northern Ireland we have had probably the worst summer ever. In fact, it is more truthful to say that summer was all but cancelled with constant windy rainy weather. 

Every morning in Northern Ireland when the TV weather forecast began my mother would snort in a mixture of both outrage and laughter at the bleak predictions. You could tell the weather forecaster was scraping the bottom of the barrel when he suggested there may be a chance of a tiny bit of sunshine for a brief period mid-morning. There wasn’t, but you know he had to think of something else to say other than, “it's going to be another piss poor day again today”. Coming from the intense heat in Malta in July, I was initially overjoyed with the cool crisp days in Northern Ireland. I waxed lyrical about the greenness of everything and the joy of needing a quilt at night. But after a month of dismal weather and no sign of a blue sky I was beginning to tire of indoor living. 

You can dress for Irish weathers. My aunt dons an all-weather outfit and walks come hail or snow every day. But not all of us have her determination.  When I open the door and it's lashing down, grey clouds being whisked with a vicious wind - my willpower wilts. Not all are as chicken as me! I regularly spotted women wearing their summer gear, tank tops, short skirts and sandals walking along streets sodden with rain.  It was as if they’d decided, 

“I bought my summer outfits, it is August and I'm wearing them - dam it! After all, it will be 12 months until there is a possibility of another summer. Goodness knows what size I’ll be then! What fashion changes might take place?” 

There was a sort of brave resilience about them.  Rather like the family on the beach in Portrush. They all wore anoraks over their swimsuits as they dug in the sand on the beach in driving relentless rain. You have to admire their tenacity. 

I've walked to my favourite cafe here in Malta. It was blissful to step into the air conditioning from the blistering heat. I only arrived yesterday, so I am still examining the clear blue sky with an air of UK expectancy. Surely it will rain soon? Do I have my umbrella? 

I've just read the Malta Times, filled with angst against politicians and their corruption. I suspect if you open the newspaper in many countries the language and climate will be different, but some problems seem universal. Time to head off home back along the coast hugging any shade I can find.

To have no rain is a rare thing

It rains constantly here

Pouring out of the skies

As if a gracious Gardner is over concerned

About the greenness of our lands

These small fields

Multihued hankies

The hills bog strewn

With bleak beauty

We discuss our weather

As we do our health

Shocked at how poor both are

Comparing notes on how wet things are

‘sure no summer at all’

And happily combining both in

‘this weather really gets into my bones’

But if the sun shines, all is transformed

The green freshness looks majestic and vital

The sea turns from gray to beckoning blue

And our mountains become as nature intended

Wild with beauty

Every face is radiant with joy

In the rare sunshine

We cannot hide our delight

And want to hug ourselves

At this good fortune

A dry day with no clouds

Sure it is no wonder we dance and sing our joy

To have no rain is a rare thing