Summer, Enough Already
You can have too much of a good thing.
The place, New Plymouth, Nu Zilland
The year, 2003.
We had suffered a decade of soggy rain and economic depression. The landscape was verdant green but our spirits were as glum as an accountant on holiday. Our destiny as a provincial hub seemed precarious, as talk of becoming the next Westport hung in the air like a seagull gorged on discarded KFC. The millennium, only newly dawned, had been the dampest of damp squibs.
But then the strangest thing happened. Summer arrived at the end of 2002 with an un-paralleled burst of resilience, as did Tom Cruise and the cast of The Last Samurai, throwing daily kisses from helicopters overhead. What followed has become local lore, reverently whispered from grandparent to grandchild as the ‘Samurai Summer’.
What we experienced was a triple whammy of unexpected joy. Firstly, the sun shone, and shone, and shone. It wouldn’t stop. No rain for months as the paddocks turned to gold. Secondly, the Samurai film filled the town with money-laden producers, muscled film set workers, chubby caterers, and botox faced actors astride prancing ponies. What surprised us locals was the Samurai’s visibility and approachability. Even Tom himself was chatted to on the beach and Billy Connelly became as ubiquitous to cafés as the coffee.
The third in this holy trinity of pleasures was that during this period our house values trebled.
Ah, happy times, The ‘Samurai Summer’ lives large in our memories and yet seems so long ago. We have been waiting and hoping for it to reoccur. Surely history would repeat itself.
Which brings me to this summer. The summer of 2015/16.
The similarities to the ‘Samurai Summer’ are hard to escape. A decade of recession, and more rain since Noah said, “Quick jump in the boat and grab those two while you are at it”. And, just like 12 years ago the sun won’t stop shining and the air feels warm like Grandma’s hug.
Goodwill and possibility fill our lungs. Restaurants are full of scantily clad folk and lazy bronzed bodies litter the beaches reminiscent of a seal colony – fish breath reflecting a healthy lunch. There is no trebling of house prices and dairy farmers are having to sell their children and milk cows with a maid and a bucket, but hey, the summer’s not over yet.
But here is the interesting thing. Despite us wishing for over a decade for a summer like this, it is having a strange and unexpected effect on me.
In response to the sunniness and warmth, I am spending huge amounts of time outside. A classic case of rolling in hay while the sun shines (too hot to make hay). Consequently, my face and arms are tanned like treacle, my tennis game is sharp, and the golf course begs for mercy upon my teeing off. I spend no time inside watching The Chase, and am limiting working hours to when it’s dark. The closest thing I’ve come to reading a mind-expanding non-fiction book was nonchalantly flicking through a Ray-Ban sunglasses catalogue while the barbecue fired up.
And, this behaviour is having an effect as I have noticed something quite odd – I have become stupid. My mind has completely stopped working, as it is always outside. I can’t remember my phone number, and certainly even remember what I did yesterday – I think I may have eaten a sausage.
I can’t deny what has happened – this summer has made me all brawn and no brains.
Oh my God, I’ve become Australian.
Richard Alexander Bain
self confessed moron