Well, it wasn’t really Sunday. ‘Twas Saturday to be exact. But it was no normal British day-after-Friday either. Listen carefully my foreign followers. It was quite simply, sunny. ALL THE DOOLALLY DAY LONG. This phenomenon occurs so rarely here that I’d like to see a new name concocted for the joy-inducing occasion when the S-U-N steadily comes our way once in an awe-inspiring, 14% bigger-looking full perigee super moon.
Josh will be furious with me if he’s reading. Had we passed each other in the neighbourhood today he would’ve said something along the lines of, “Me-oh-my Mary! We sure lucked out with the non-rain yesterday.”
And because I like to think I’m an empathetic sort of person I would have felt obliged to play along. “Yes Josh, you’re right. Absolutely. Gotta love that big ol’ fireball in the sky. The star that dare not speak its name. The non-rain.”
He’s weatherstitious you see.
And who could blame him? It certainly was the Best. Darn. $#!day. Ever.