The end of the line

So there we go. It was a great summer. The one that we've just had. 
All ten days of it (10!!!) 
It started just in time for Her Ladyship's arrival, and ended a couple of hours after her airplane left the (melting) tarmac at Cork airport. 

I'd like to suggest that Lady Findhorn and His Lordship make it a yearly meteorological duty to come to Ireland. 
For a minimum of four weeks. 
And preferably coinciding with school holidays. 

It's over now. The shorts and sandals are going back to the dark, damp bottom of the wardrobe. 
The blueish hue that slowly disappeared from exposed legs, arms, cleavages and bald caps for a few days will soon reassert its genetic right over square miles of warmly wrapped freckled Irish skin. 

The summer is dead, long live the autumn (mid-May is just about right for the start of the Irish autumn).