March to the end of the year

Yesterdays shit hot weather made me think about last summer.
This time last year, Appleheart,  KB and I were on a plane on the way to London, where we remained (more or less) until February 2016. KB was four months old and we were all pretty raw from the experience of either having looked after a baby for four months or having been a baby for four months.
We were excited and daunted AF (as the kids like to say these days). I love London, and was pretty delighted to be going there. But being away from home with a new baby was going to be tough. And it was going to be cold. Cold AF (as the kids like to say). We were going to miss most of summer and though I was happy to be going away I was not happy to be missing summer. With the benefit of hindsight I can say boy was I right, missing summer is a bunch of bullshit. We made the most of the cold and had some truly excellent cold weather days. Several times taking long walks through London and then stopping off at cosy pubs to drink mulled wine and/or Guinness spring to mind. London is so good at cosy pubs. Walking along the coast in Lands End, in Cornwall, in very wild weather which looked a lot like the pace Dumbledore went to find a horcrux and shit got real for him. There were also the walks through snow in the Swedish countryside and the time it snowed overnight in Copenhagen then the sun came out and we went for a jog around the cemetery. I remember that because it was the only jog I did in three months and I nearly puked all over the fresh white snow.
Look, it was pretty fantastic, really.
And now I'm in a tight spot because the point of this post was to highlight that the lead up to the end of the year is always so mental, and last year I missed that, and so ended 2015 in a state of relative calm, which was the silver lining to missing out on summer.
But maybe I've just discovered that missing summer doesn't even need a silver lining. I missed something great but I had something great. It was just great.
Wow.