Summer in Spring.

I adore the Brits. We are an exceptional breed of human who catch the tiniest glimmer of sunlight and dust off the surf shorts, don last year's shades and smother ourselves in sun cream, flock to the fields and beaches with picnic blankets, disposable barbecues and ice boxes, then sit for hours marveling at how warm it is and saying "this is the life", "happy days", and "I feel so summery..."

I'm half-Australian, so I tend to watch all this happen around me and giggle. I'm not going to pretend that I don't occasionally conform to this national stereotype, however. Today I found myself wearing a little summer dress, lying out on the grass in my student village, cooking my Linda McCartney sausages on the disposable barbecue, chatting with friends and enjoying this beautiful summer's day (in March). I forgot all about my essays and portfolio that are due in next week. I bought a bottle of cider from the village shop, and later on I treated myself to a Mint Feast ice cream. My friends and I compared legs, ranging from milky white to scorched bronze. We passed sun cream around, played old summer songs through speakers, and talked about our holiday plans.

A perfect day at university. And tonight, guess what? We're getting drunk.