Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

The last few days have been mighty fierce indeed. No sooner had I thrown off the remaining post viral lethargy than a whole new ambient temperature related lethargy arrived. I have spent the last three days reading yet more books (having finished all the Mick Herron spy books (quite funny, but read them now as I suspect they won’t “keep”) I have moved on to a history of John of Gaunt with intermittent science fiction breaks (latest Becky Chambers, more novellas really)) under the shade of the pergola with a cold drink to hand. Now I can actually smell the lavender, the whole ambience is really rather “holiday in the south of France.” I might order up some French novels just for completeness. Now there’s a thought…. But anyway, the holiday vibe and blistering heat is getting in the way of any kind of progress. I just amble blithely past the weeds, haven’t baked a cake for yonks and my knitting is quite literally gathering dust. Yesterday, I barely managed a few rounds with the watering can, and only then as the plants in pots were hamming it up for sympathy. Today I was firmly resolved to “do better”.

I started well, deciding to take Lyra for a walk in the woods before breakfast. We chugged down the road to the turn in with the air con on full, all windows open and Lyra’s ears positively flapping in the wind. The wall of thick, still heat that enveloped us when I opened the car doors was, therefore, a bit of a shock. “It’ll all be better when we get to the shade” I declared and we strolled boldly on. Once in the woods it was definitely more bearable, but still soul sappingly hot. The bright sunshine on the open stretch made the shade of the wood seem darker and the usual blurred dapple of the light through the leaves had sharpened to clusters of bright bulletholes in a dark grey green curtain. The usual small streams have all dried up and as we walked we were accompanied by positively autumnal snaps and rustles from the dried out twigs and leaves. It was too hot for chasing and, after a token gesture towards a squirrel and two baby rabbits, we made for Snukin’s bridge where Lyra had a lovely paddle and, had it not been for the waist high nettles, I might have joined her.

Returning home Lyra promptly made for the cool patch under the kitchen table and I resumed my post under the pergola by way of a bacon sarnie. And there it might all have ended, another day of sloth, but for a late moment of inspiration. At 5pm I got my dookers on and spent a really rather refreshing couple of hours pulling blanketweed out of the pond. By 7 I was in the bath, feeling quite smug, watching two snails and a bug of unsurpassed ugliness slide past me into the Ralgex foam. So I have earned my glass of wine tonight after all