Awake to drizzle, and the news that the UK is in the grip of a heatwave, something that apparently knocks the Greek crisis, refugees, striking French ferry workers and even British players not quite losing at tennis out of the headlines. My Twitter timeline fills up with people telling me how hot it is already. Head out into the scorching 15 degree temperatures and intermittent rain for the village school bike picnic…
By the time we have escorted all the kids up to the caravan park and round and back down again, and ushered them back to school, the rain has stopped and the sun is edging out. Cycle into Bigtown for a paper and get a bit warm. Cool off the minute I get into the house, which is several degrees cooler than, apparently, the rest of the entire planet, according to my Twitter feed.
As evening comes we realise we’re better off outside, where it is finally warm enough to eat outside. Sit out into the long evening, accompanied by Chilled Hare, who has decided to join us, and enjoying the fragrance of the night-scented stock for the first time since I planted it. Feel that this is the life.
Awake to clouds, but as we open the door and go outside we realise the heat has finally arrived, except in the house, of course. Rashly change into shorts. Head up to the walled garden until even I have to admit that it is too hot to do anything sensible. Tweet, to let everyone know how hot it is, in case there’s anyone left who may not have realised it (perhaps they, too, live in a damp Scottish stone cottage).
We take the bikes to Bigtown to recce a route and stop for lunch at the Greek cafe which has managed to survive two years still serving actual Greek food, rather than succumbing to dishing up haggis panini, the signature dish of all other Bigtown eateries.* For about half an hour, as we sit at the outside tables watching the world go by and listening to the assembled Greek population of Bigtown set the world to rights(I assume they were talking about the crisis, but who knows – Greek, like Italian, seems to make any discussion sound like an impassioned political argument; they may just have been reading tweets out to each other about how hot it was) it feels as if we are on holiday. Cycle home to find my timeline full of people’s cancelled trains and sweaty tube journeys and general meltdowns and feel a bit smug. Admittedly, by now it is raining, but it is warm rain.
Awake to fog, and the news that yesterday was the hottest July day in the history of ever. Up here, normal service has resumed, the shorts go back into the drawer, and the neighbour takes delivery of a lorry load of firewood.
Still, it was nice while it lasted.
* I swear I am not making this up.