Melting

It was outrageously hot yesterday.
Everyone walked a little slower, sat down for a little longer, perspired a little more.
My brain stopped working properly.
The temperature reached 36 in the kitchen according to the meat thermometer.
We are so fortunate to have a large area with tree cover which is much, much cooler and yesterday almost every table was there.
Today it’s significantly cooler though by any British summer measurement it’s still a hot one.
I have ordered a device for the kitchen - an air cooler - which uses ice water to circulate cold air.
Sweaty fingers are crossed.

If you can’t stand the heat...

7.30am and it’s really, really hot already.
Forecasters are suggesting this could turn out to be the hottest day on record in this country.
Jacket potatoes definitely OFF the menu today but we do have to cook a ham which will add to the intense heat in the kitchen.
Ten flavours of Bennetts ice cream are in stock but have I ordered enough?

Flora

The agapanthus are in bloom and are, as usual, a sight to behold. 

We have about sixteen either fully out or about to burst. 

They all came from a single, original plant which belonged to Janet’s brother. Janet and Peter look after our large garden very well and are slowly teaching me the names of a few plants.

On Monday Peter asked me what I thought the plural of agapanthus might be? We had a discussion about various Latin endings. I threw in things like “dative” and “nominative plural” which made me feel oddly grown up given that the last time I used them I definitely wasn’t.

After our conversation I went back inside and googled it.

Disappointingly it turns out that the plural is either agapanthus or agapanthuses. 

Still, nothing disappointing about this:

Warning

This afternoon I have been at a workshop to endeavour to learn how to improve our social media.

Watch this space.

Still nervous. 

Twist the butter knife

A young couple is (sort of) arguing at the counter.
She says she doesn’t believe him.
He says it’s absolutely true.
He has NEVER had an Afternoon Tea. Ever. Nor a Cream Tea. Ever. The only scone he’s ever had was from a supermarket. He certainly didn’t eat it with jam and cream.
I have to join in.
“How can that be?” I ask.
His answer surprises me, “I’m from Dudley,” he says.
I challenge his logic, “So am I” I say, quickly, “what difference does that make?”
I am floored by his response:
“Yes but we’re a different generation”.
I limp off in pain.

Undiluted joy

On Friday morning when we opened up there was a surprise.
No water.
Which is pretty important.
We couldn’t do a whole lot until the problem had been sorted so I tried very hard not to panic.
I rang the Court to find out if they had similar issues but they had working taps.
I set off down the drive to a house which borders our garden.
There were lots of workmen there digging and building and, it turns out, turning off our water as they tried to work out which supply was theirs.
Panic over.