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Mid April: Experience one freakishly warm Saturday in April. Everyone is caught rapid in trousers and tights. You declare sagely that “this is it now” and “there’s the summer” and “ah we’ll get another few days in June for the exams”.
April – May: Misery. Soaking socks. Heating on. Everyone books a week in Mallorca/Ios/The Algarve.
29 May: There are rumours that it will be “fine” for the bank holiday. It’s all anyone can talk about. Your mam texts you about it. Twice.
1 June: You buy a disposable BBQ, two packs of Superquinn sossies and 12 burgers. You forget the burger buns. Everyone else had the same idea and there’s tumbleweed in the bread aisles in Tesco. You end up cooking everything in the oven anyway because it’s ‘baltic’.
9 June: We get another few good days for the exams. “Not as hot as last year”, you lament. “Poor f**kers though”, you add. You get drunk and insist on reciting that one Séamus Heaney poem you know in the pub and get misty eyed about Soundings.
12 June: The rain comes sideways. You think back to the endless summers of heat and bikes and tip the can and freezing 7up in ice cube trays and pretending it makes decent ice pops.
14 June: It’s still raining. You start doing the lotto so you can move to ‘an island somewhere’. Insist that you WOULDN’T keep working if you won the Lotto. Anyone who says they would is quite frankly a pain in the hole.
17 June: You go to the first of five weddings this year. They get the day for it. You spend most of the day talking about how they got the day for it. You spend €82 on Jaegerbombs, as is the law.
22 June: You spend €87 in Penneys for your holliers, as is the law.
26 June: You head off to Ios for the week. A heatwave is forecast for Ireland. The man in front of you in the queue for airport security is wearing a belt. You can see it. He’s been wearing it in front of you for ten minutes. And yet still he fails to take it off. This puts years, YEARS onto your life.
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26-30 June: It pisses rain in Greece for four days. Clears up in time for you to get ‘a colour’ to come home with.
4 July: There’s a run of three days of good weather, mid week. You think dark and hateful thoughts about teachers and their holidays. Out loud you say things like “fair play to them” and “they work very hard during the year”. You are a fraud.
7 July: The good weather continues into the weekend. Everyone is nicer than they have ever been before. Your tooth enamel lies in the bottom of a pint of Kopparberg, but what harm? You love the teachers again. Sure don’t they work hard? You buy multiple ‘outdoor’ items from the middle bit of Aldi, including a 48 piece picnic set and a decorative outdoor urn. You say things like “you can’t beat Dublin/Galway/Cork/Borris in the sun”.
8 July – 16 July: It’s roasting and raining. You’re in a constant state of near-rage. You wonder if a stranger lamping you with an umbrella would stand up as a motive in court. Your raincoat is your friend and your enemy. You move the picnic set under the stairs.
18 July: Nobody can sleep in This Bloody Heat. You flail around under a fitted sheet, wondering how much it would cost to get air conditioning installed. It lasts two nights and then you’re back under the 10.5 tog.
21 July: A good weekend is forecast. You’re skeptical.
23 July: You’ve failed to plan anything for the good weekend and end up once again burger bun-less in the back garden. But your kitchen sink is clogged with lumps of Corona-soaked lemons. A sure sign of a good time. Life is grand.
1 August: Pisses rain for the entire bank holiday. You sit in a house in Clonakilty, playing Cranium after relearning the rules for the 11th time. It’s good craic, actually.
Rest of August: Shite, mainly. Weather forecasters throw around “mixed bag” and “unsettled”. Few great sunny days only slightly marred by Italian tourists in North Face jackets looking a bit chilly, while topless youths stroll twixt them. TAKE OF YOUR JACKETS YOU MISERABLE GETS.
26 August: Leaving Cert results. You inflate whatever points you got 12 years ago. The number goes up every year. Sure who’ll know? You deserved that A2 (B3) in Geography.
28 August: The picnic set goes under the bed in the spare room, never to be looked at again.
2 September: Scorching, blistering sun. The teachers aren’t so smug now, are they?
3 September: Starts to piss just in time for Electric Picnic. Go anyway. Make best friends with the lads beside you in the tent singing Mary Black songs. COME RUNNING HOME AGAIN KATIE! VIVA LA IRISH SUMMER!
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Sunday 22 December, 2024
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22 milestones in every Irish person's summer
Mid April: Experience one freakishly warm Saturday in April. Everyone is caught rapid in trousers and tights. You declare sagely that “this is it now” and “there’s the summer” and “ah we’ll get another few days in June for the exams”.
April – May: Misery. Soaking socks. Heating on. Everyone books a week in Mallorca/Ios/The Algarve.
29 May: There are rumours that it will be “fine” for the bank holiday. It’s all anyone can talk about. Your mam texts you about it. Twice.
1 June: You buy a disposable BBQ, two packs of Superquinn sossies and 12 burgers. You forget the burger buns. Everyone else had the same idea and there’s tumbleweed in the bread aisles in Tesco. You end up cooking everything in the oven anyway because it’s ‘baltic’.
9 June: We get another few good days for the exams. “Not as hot as last year”, you lament. “Poor f**kers though”, you add. You get drunk and insist on reciting that one Séamus Heaney poem you know in the pub and get misty eyed about Soundings.
12 June: The rain comes sideways. You think back to the endless summers of heat and bikes and tip the can and freezing 7up in ice cube trays and pretending it makes decent ice pops.
14 June: It’s still raining. You start doing the lotto so you can move to ‘an island somewhere’. Insist that you WOULDN’T keep working if you won the Lotto. Anyone who says they would is quite frankly a pain in the hole.
17 June: You go to the first of five weddings this year. They get the day for it. You spend most of the day talking about how they got the day for it. You spend €82 on Jaegerbombs, as is the law.
22 June: You spend €87 in Penneys for your holliers, as is the law.
26 June: You head off to Ios for the week. A heatwave is forecast for Ireland. The man in front of you in the queue for airport security is wearing a belt. You can see it. He’s been wearing it in front of you for ten minutes. And yet still he fails to take it off. This puts years, YEARS onto your life.
26-30 June: It pisses rain in Greece for four days. Clears up in time for you to get ‘a colour’ to come home with.
4 July: There’s a run of three days of good weather, mid week. You think dark and hateful thoughts about teachers and their holidays. Out loud you say things like “fair play to them” and “they work very hard during the year”. You are a fraud.
7 July: The good weather continues into the weekend. Everyone is nicer than they have ever been before. Your tooth enamel lies in the bottom of a pint of Kopparberg, but what harm? You love the teachers again. Sure don’t they work hard? You buy multiple ‘outdoor’ items from the middle bit of Aldi, including a 48 piece picnic set and a decorative outdoor urn. You say things like “you can’t beat Dublin/Galway/Cork/Borris in the sun”.
8 July – 16 July: It’s roasting and raining. You’re in a constant state of near-rage. You wonder if a stranger lamping you with an umbrella would stand up as a motive in court. Your raincoat is your friend and your enemy. You move the picnic set under the stairs.
18 July: Nobody can sleep in This Bloody Heat. You flail around under a fitted sheet, wondering how much it would cost to get air conditioning installed. It lasts two nights and then you’re back under the 10.5 tog.
21 July: A good weekend is forecast. You’re skeptical.
23 July: You’ve failed to plan anything for the good weekend and end up once again burger bun-less in the back garden. But your kitchen sink is clogged with lumps of Corona-soaked lemons. A sure sign of a good time. Life is grand.
1 August: Pisses rain for the entire bank holiday. You sit in a house in Clonakilty, playing Cranium after relearning the rules for the 11th time. It’s good craic, actually.
Rest of August: Shite, mainly. Weather forecasters throw around “mixed bag” and “unsettled”. Few great sunny days only slightly marred by Italian tourists in North Face jackets looking a bit chilly, while topless youths stroll twixt them. TAKE OF YOUR JACKETS YOU MISERABLE GETS.
26 August: Leaving Cert results. You inflate whatever points you got 12 years ago. The number goes up every year. Sure who’ll know? You deserved that A2 (B3) in Geography.
28 August: The picnic set goes under the bed in the spare room, never to be looked at again.
2 September: Scorching, blistering sun. The teachers aren’t so smug now, are they?
3 September: Starts to piss just in time for Electric Picnic. Go anyway. Make best friends with the lads beside you in the tent singing Mary Black songs. COME RUNNING HOME AGAIN KATIE! VIVA LA IRISH SUMMER!
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Irish Summer irish summer milestones Irish weather Mixed Bag one fine day Summer