Jubilation

It is such a remarkable summer in Britain, and a part of me feels as an expat that I should remark on the events that are exclusive to my place of residence.

First, the Diamond Jubilee. I did not stay in London, did not join the huge throngs lined up along the Thames to watch the Flotilla. Tim was participating in the Diamond Jubilee Regatta in Cowes, a series of races over the holiday weekend that began with a sail around the island followed by shorter races on Sunday and Monday.  My dear friend Leah came down to join her beau and was not sailing, so we had the opportunity to pull up stools at the local pub and watch the flotilla on a big screen TV. I must say, it was grand. There was this buzz, this anticipation about all sorts of things—what colour would HRH be wearing? Will it rain on her parade? How many boats are actually IN the flotilla? Well, I have to admit, I got slightly choked up when the Queen stepped out of her Bentley; she is a remarkable, elegant, truly regal woman and I was filled with respect for her. The weather was awful, yet she smiled and waved and stood for hours to the delight of all of those onlookers lining the waterfront.  It was fabulous watching (we could hardly hear the TV) and Leah and I enjoyed the lunch, the conversation, and the chance to see it all from a very comfortable position—maybe not the best seat in the house, but certainly one of the driest!

We had a funny incident at one of the post-sailing barbies that I still smile at: we popped into a water taxi to head back to Cowes after a less-than-inspiring gathering at the East Cowes Sailing Club where the beef was grey like the skies—to be fair, the BBQ was sponsored by a local charity, so the money we paid was not for a posh meal but for the hospice. It was edible, it just wasn’t very good. At the barbie there was a couple wearing HRH and Prince Philip masks, dancing in an oddly, almost creepy tete-a-tete, and just as we were getting ready to leave on the taxi the Queen pops into our boat! It turns out she was the boat driver’s mum bringing him some food. The way she wore the mask--with a scarf around her head--she looked, again quite oddly, just like the queen. We asked if we could take her photo, and she laughed and agreed, giving us a decidedly American pose when she detected photographer Taron's accent.

The picture quickly found its way on Facebook, and I sent it around to some friends the next day, some of whom commented at how authentic our fellow water taxi passenger appeared.

On Monday Tim and I planned to go see a local Isle of Wight Celtic band, but missed their set and instead found ourselves at the same pub Leah and I sat in, this time to watch the concert and fireworks that ended the Jubilee weekend. I found some of it odd—Alfie Boe and his duet companion Renee Fleming singing a tune from West Side Story . . . how is that a celebration of something quite British? Stevie Wonder? Well, it was all good, just not very British to me. I absolutely loved Madness doing “Our House” as they flashed different London scenes and buildings on to Buckingham Palace; if you haven’t seen it, give it a look here.

And so went the Diamond Jubilee. Britain was closed for an extra holiday, which was quite nice and gave us a chance to relax together after a busy weekend in Cowes. I was glad to have seen some of the events, even digitally, and felt it was a nice juxtaposition to the start of the weekend where we celebrated Leah’s birthday with a cake decorated with a huge American flag! Tim arranged it with the Island Sailing Club and it was just lovely, much like Leah.

Next, the quintessential British summer weather. To sum it up in one word: rubbish. When I first came to England I was surprised at how much the natives talked about the weather--always a good ice breaker, but this was beyond polite conversation. The whingeing! Well, having experienced what is now my fifth British summer, I can understand why everyone goes on about it. This year has been particularly bleak—not many days above 20 C / 70 F, and while there was a drought in May, it feels like it has not stopped raining since June. There are some positively glorious days which are little treasures, and I find myself wanting to sit in the garden until it gets too chilly or the dusk gives way to darkness, knowing that these are precious evenings indeed. Those of you who have been following Wimbledon know how it’s been a bit wet and windy this year; just imagine those two weeks repeated over three months! I do not envy New Jerseyites who are sweltering in scorching 38 C / 100 F, but I must say there are days in London when I simply shake my head at how many layers I’m wearing in summer, and how there are more women wearing scarves (and I mean the bulky kind) and boots in June and July than there are donning flip flops and tees! It makes an upcoming trip to sail in Turkey that much more desirable. I’ve just checked the low /highs for the week we’ll be there, and the low is London’s high, and the high is just under the scorching weather New Jersey has been experiencing—so I guess we'll get the best of both worlds there!

Last, a note about the Olympics. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m half-thinking to escape, at least for some part of the two weeks where the world descends on London and some of its outer reaches. I have been boarding crowded buses and trains in the last few weeks thinking how is London going to handle the crowds that haven’t arrived yet? Some of us still have to go to work, still need to take some transport. We’ll have to grin and bear it, adjust our hours and our attitudes and be polite to our visitors. I’m excited that I will be, at least for some part of the two weeks, in an Olympic hosting city. I may even go to one of the sailing events (albeit in Weymouth), and am anticipating the excitement in what is already a vibrant city. I know I will need to get to the office—training schedule in place, I will need to be there for the first of the two weeks. The second week, at the moment, is blissfully free of appointments that require me to find my way to Chancery Lane, which has been designated as one of the hotspots (likely because the station is on the Central Line, with a direct link to Stratford where the Olympic stadium and its surrounding park are poised.

A very exciting, unique British summer indeed. Excepting the dreadful weather!