We’re in for a heat wave which is a pain. I may live with a woman who defends the thermostat with the zealous disregard for male hypothermia that was previously applied to protecting her children from even the mildest frost, but at least I can put on more layers. There’s only so much I can shed in order to stay comfortable inside the oven. I think it’s London’s sticky humidity that is the worst part, requiring me to sleep on a towel to avoid creating my own pillow sink.
We have friends staying this week, over from the Bay Area in Califonia. In one way they’ll be used to the temperatures, maybe the humidity but the lack of Aircon will test their resolve.
The garden is flagging as are the pets.
Our old cat Nutmeg is hinting at a shower please…
While the new guest is wondering if some wild swimming might help..
This week gone has been full of tennis and politics. I’m not sure if there’s an analogy to be found because it’s clear that our soon to be a former PM did more than just double fault. Thus we will now enjoy racing metaphors of the election for a new leader involving runners and riders, taking the jumps and calling the odds, all the while leaving most of us, who have no say in the outcome suspecting that most of the candidates are, in the words of an Elbow song ‘only good for glue’.
At least this week I get to go to the cricket though I hope its a little better than this (source: my friend Gilly). This is so familiar with the level of cricket I played.