Monday, July 16, 2012
It must be high summer in England.
At one point a couple of weeks ago we had flooding AND a hosepipe ban in London. Now that takes a particular talent, wouldn't you say? Only the English with their knack for lousy weather could achieve that. We did have a weekend in May when the temperature was 30C and sunny, but it's a distant and hazy memory now. I've got moss on the patio and ferns growing out the garden wall. No kidding.
One of my colleagues has just been on holiday in Cornwall, a place that gets more than its share of rain anyway. What's more, she was camping. She's surprisingly philosophical about it. Well I remember getting on a train in Cornwall, removing my socks and wringing them out on the floor of the carriage, just to prove to myself how wet they were, and so that I could blog about it six years later.
I would love to amaze you with my wonderful photographs but in fact it's so dark - at 8.30pm on a July evening - that the flash flashed and my small cat (whom you have not met yet) was caught in mid-yowl, like a rabbit in the headlights. I cheated by calling 'fish fish fish', which they can hear from the next garden but five, and he came galloping up, only to stop dead when he saw the camera. So there he is.