English summer

There have been some hot days this summer in Cambridge, but the overall impression is wet. Not really cold, but every time I open a door and see the rain, I think: "Not again!" Being used to Pyrenean summers in which it can be wet and stormy but on the whole bright and sunny and not too hot, this English summer is a bit depressing. That thing of not knowing what to wear; what to put on your feet, or if you need an umbrella grinds you down a bit. A lot of the drama of swine flu is just summer colds as far as I can see.
On Saturday I went to the theatre. It was in one of the University college gardens, where, with a small wooden platform and a ladder hidden by a screen, a small company performed Romeo and Juliet under an ancient spreading fir tree. There was a circle of three rows of plastic chairs on the grass. The audience sat down and it started to rain. People got out umbrellas and spread plastic sheets over their laps, some took glasses and bottles of wine out and sipped throughout.
During the performance it rained more, or less heavily nearly all the time. In the interval mulled wine was served from a thing like a tea urn and I warmed my cold hands as I drank.
The cast pretty well ignored the rain. Juliet, in a white cotton nightie got muddier and muddier as the evening progressed. I felt cold for her and for Romeo, who stripped to the waist at one point.
At the close we applauded as much for their fine performance and hardiness in getting so wet for so long.