Tuesday 19th July 2022
Yesterday morning Shane barked an instruction - the houseboy should not undertake a run until the freakishly hot weather has returned to normal here in the UK. His fear being that my brain would erupt like a sherbet fountain once my body temp hit a high. I gave him a withering look and informed him that daft I might be, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d had no intention of pounding the pavement in a heat wave. I planned on using the treadmill with a fan blowing at me. He promptly banned me doing even that. He had a point. The normal daily routine felt like running a marathon in the stifling heat. Jumping on a treadmill would be foolish. Today is even worse than yesterday. You can fry an egg on the pavement. We Brits aren’t built for extreme heat. We melt like the green witch from The Wizard of Oz if temperatures nudge above 20C. Plus we have an overwhelming urge to strip off and bake our delicate skin under the searing sun until it resembles pork crackling. It ain’t pretty.
I’ve warned the men folk that dinner this evening will be light, nothing that involves slogging over a hot stove for any length of time. I’m doing salmon with salad and lemon rice. They can count themselves lucky I plan to poach the salmon rather than just chucking a slab of raw fish onto their plates. In fact if it gets any hotter I can probably forego the cooker altogether and just stick the salmon outside to bake under the sun. I might allow them fruit and ice cream for dessert if they show due appreciation for my fishy dish. If they don’t then I’m afraid I’m padlocking the freezer, because I’m petty like that.
Well, just sitting here in front of a hot computer has made me sweat several more buckets. I must have sweated off at least a stone in weight today. I need another mug of tea and several slices of lemon poppy cake to make up for it. Stay well, peeps, and stay hydrated. If you’re in a winter climate then can I just say - you lucky, lucky buggers!
Ciao for now.
Yesterday morning Shane barked an instruction - the houseboy should not undertake a run until the freakishly hot weather has returned to normal here in the UK. His fear being that my brain would erupt like a sherbet fountain once my body temp hit a high. I gave him a withering look and informed him that daft I might be, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d had no intention of pounding the pavement in a heat wave. I planned on using the treadmill with a fan blowing at me. He promptly banned me doing even that. He had a point. The normal daily routine felt like running a marathon in the stifling heat. Jumping on a treadmill would be foolish. Today is even worse than yesterday. You can fry an egg on the pavement. We Brits aren’t built for extreme heat. We melt like the green witch from The Wizard of Oz if temperatures nudge above 20C. Plus we have an overwhelming urge to strip off and bake our delicate skin under the searing sun until it resembles pork crackling. It ain’t pretty.
I’ve warned the men folk that dinner this evening will be light, nothing that involves slogging over a hot stove for any length of time. I’m doing salmon with salad and lemon rice. They can count themselves lucky I plan to poach the salmon rather than just chucking a slab of raw fish onto their plates. In fact if it gets any hotter I can probably forego the cooker altogether and just stick the salmon outside to bake under the sun. I might allow them fruit and ice cream for dessert if they show due appreciation for my fishy dish. If they don’t then I’m afraid I’m padlocking the freezer, because I’m petty like that.
I still haven’t decided what courses I want to do with regard to Further Ed. I’m so busy during the summer, with the gardens and guests and such. Maybe I’m just procrastinating? I’ve also been fiddling with my bits and bobs, if you get my drift, but don’t get too excited. You know me. It could take years to come to fruition. I did think of doing a creative writing degree, but I’ve dismissed it for a very cowardly reason. I fear it will show up all my shortcomings with regard to the written word and I will end up embarrassed and ashamed of everything I’ve ever written. I think it will stifle rather than stimulate me. Ignorance is bliss. I think I’m happier scribbling in my own erratic way rather than falling short in the eyes of some creative writing guru, if that makes sense. I think creative writing courses can be counterproductive in some ways. Maybe it's just me.
I could comment on Boris Johnson being chucked as leader of the Spiteful Twat Party, but frankly it’s too hot for apoplectic outbursts, especially taking into account the ‘hopefuls’ vying to take over the top slot. I’ve witnessed nicer things crawl from blocked drains. God help us all! They make pond scum look wholesome.
Well, just sitting here in front of a hot computer has made me sweat several more buckets. I must have sweated off at least a stone in weight today. I need another mug of tea and several slices of lemon poppy cake to make up for it. Stay well, peeps, and stay hydrated. If you’re in a winter climate then can I just say - you lucky, lucky buggers!
Ciao for now.