Well, I managed to miss the solstice sunrise, but it does look quite summery outside the window.
There again, my idea of what summer looks like has been changed by years of living in Spain.
Forgetting for a moment about the rain and the cold that is more often the reality, I think of British summer as pale and hazy, delicate and frilled, in pastel shades of strawberries and cream.
It’s honeysuckle, gypsophila and sweet peas; strappy sandals, pretty print frocks and matching cardigans.
In Spain, though, summer is brash and solid and in-your-face.
El verano is a brazen sun and a scorching heat so intense you can’t go outside after mid-morning. It’s electric storms dancing round the hills and sudden hail rattling off bone-dry city pavements.
Of course, like everything else, modern seasons aren’t what they used to be. The cherries – one of the most plentiful fruits in this area – are usually ready at the end of May. This year, the few that there are on our trees are still not fully ripe. Even so, they are beautifully sassy and bright, so they’ll do to illustrate the moment.