James Wilmore: Here comes the sun...

Who doesn't like the sun?

Well I'm sure there's a few curmudgeonly types who don't, but judging by most of those I've noticed over the past few days, there aren't many.

It's such a beautifully simple thing.

As soon the earth's nearest star emerges, people are outdoors in their droves paying homage.

Equally it affects people's gait. In winter, it's all scurrying and hunching.

But come the summer months, which was once June to August I seem to recall, you will spot many folk lolloping and dawdling.

The latter is my preferred style, so this kind of weather suits me just fine.

In light of that, I've often considered moving to a nation where a decent bit of current bun is the norm, as opposed to a reason to waste time remarking on "the great weather we're having". Blighty's climate

But I've never got around to a stint abroad. In fact, I've come to the conclusion that Blighty's climate is not so bad after all.

Perhaps it's because ever since I can remember, a good friend has staunchly defended the types of seasons we experience here.

Why? Well, variety is the main thrust of his argument.

One example is he enjoys walking into a pub on a frosty day and feeling the warmth and cosiness only a good boozer can offer.

But alternatively, he suggests, there's few better places to be than a beer garden on a sizzling afternoon, pint in hand, surrounded by friendly, yet slightly rosy, faces. And who am I to argue?

I guess I always wonder if I'd appreciate the sun living in a place where it was there more often than not? Or, perhaps, it would be heaven and I would not feel silly wearing shorts the whole time...