…Summer in the UK is a cruel mistress. It’s here. It’s not here. It’s here. It’s gone.

Ever the optimists, we crack out the summer clothes, open toed sandals, flip-flops, shorts, Pimms & Lemonade, gins on the decking from anywhere in April onwards. And the reality is normally frozen toes, patchy fake tan, and blue chattering lips with the addition of some attractive goosebumps.

But I refuse to give up. New flip-flops and new garden bling are sneaking their way in this weekend, even though I do indeed have frozen toes as I write this, thanks to a freakily cold weather front, blown in from our Russian neighbours.

So it’s hello parasols, and hello damp barbeques, cold beers, cheery red geraniums, mozzie bites, sports days, late nights with fire pits on the beach, factor 50, cricket, tennis, strawberries and rained out festivals.

…and another great British summer.