I moved to Cumbria a few months ago, amidst warnings of needing thermal underwear and a decent umbrella.
And I laughed! I accused people of being stereotypical, and of not having lived here. I went sledging in the knee-deep snow, before snuggling down with a bottle of wine in front of the roaring log fire and then spring came, and I enjoyed a street party in the sunshine for the Royal Wedding.
When I visited Essex it was always drizzling and grey, while I'd left beautiful mountains, clear blue skies and glorious sunshine - albeit crisp in the air - up north. When it rained it was only showers, and the sun came out in between. Again I laughed - I can live with showers, when the sun shines too. You just need to learn to take every item of clothing with you when you go out (and being an Essex girl, we're used to packing it all).
And then summer came...
Since returning from holiday it has rained. And rained. And rained.
And no, this isn't rain like in Essex. It is torrential. I'm sat at my desk at home, and the rain is hammering on the barn roof and conservatory. It sounds like someone is pouring baths and baths full of water on top of my little house. The skylight that I marvelled at in spring looks like one of those rain feature walls that were so popular in houses 15 years ago.
And it's cold, oh so cold. I have to type fast, to stop my fingers freezing. I even put the heating on for a quick blast yesterday... and we're not even halfway through August.
So I've pulled back out my thick jumper, jeans and wellies. My dazzling summer wardrobe of little dresses and strappy sandals never saw the light of England - or Cumbria anyway - and it seems there is little point pressing ahead with that pedicure.
Give me six more months and I will have forgotten the meaning of the word "fashion". You won't recognise me, with my tangled mane of hair, no make up and pasty white skin.
Even an Essex girl draws the line at a tan which only the sheep will see...