Summer When It Burns

Australian summers are, perhaps, unlike any other. They inevitably involve dry, oppressive heat; bushfires; snakes; grass going to seed; cricket; tennis; beer.

Kate Holden sums it up pretty well: “the windows and doors open, the sweet zephyrs wafting, the bare skin sunning, the beer gardens, picnics and cricket grounds your new pleasure palaces, the fridge full of cold drinks and cucumbers…the scent of hot eucalypt bark…pub crowds spilling out on to the street…perplexity at where all the young women have bought their perfect, smooth, tanned legs: there must be a shop, surely they aren’t simply born with them? Nectarines. Treeless streets of parched asphalt down which one much stumble laden with shopping under the pitiless glare of afternoon sun. The extraordinary russet gilding of trees around dinner time, when each leaf seems brassed with warmth. Storms. The irresistible temptation of late-night strolls in air as soft as warm water.”

But, as she rightly points out, “there are a few drawbacks to the heat. Unbearable lassitude, for one. It’s hard to be productive when you’re forced to lie prone one a couch weakly soaking your feet in buckets of cold water and letting the watermelon juice trickle from your mouth into your ears.”

For me, summer is the Australian Open – we usually go, but this year we aren’t, as my brother is going to be in Cambodia doing charity work – either in Melbourne or watching from home under a struggling air conditioner, icy poles, lemonade, endless hours reading, dust storms, looking out for snakes, seeking cool solace in the creek, and playing tennis on our gravel court.

How are your winters and/or summers?

x

JAG