Summery summary

Remember how cold and wet it was in June?

And how much one longed for a bit of warmth to bask in?

Well ha ha ha.

We got it.

That's 114º F.

In the shade.

Not so much basking weather,

as

lurking behind closed shutters

hanging wet towels at windows

freezing towels as compresses

and rediscovering the joys of Uno weather.

Because if you did venture out

it was so blindingly bright

and pulsatingly hot

that even being sensible in the shade

wasn't an option.

There was a lovely pool,

but only one sun umbrella.

Don't be deceived by that cloud.

It never even attempted to shield us from the sun.

The box moth was thriving though.

There were hideous clouds of them

being enjoyed misguidedly by the tourists

in lavender fields.

But these murals were unexpectedly lovely.

And being awake early one morning

I heard a roaring sound and to my astonishment

saw this -

Since returning to a land of wholly acceptable variants 

on normal summer temperatures

I have been grateful for the ability to think, move around freely and sleep.

The grandchildren had meanwhile surely grown 

more than a week's absence could have made possible.

One of them having clocked up his first year

in the blink of an eye.

Streams of (sunlit) pleasure ever flowing

Catching the sunlight wherever and whenever possible

as sadly it is not ever flowing just now.

And when it fades at15.51

bring on the twinkly lights

and be glad that it is only eight days until

the Winter Solstice.

Swatch

I'd like a chaise longue covered in

moorhen's foot green velvet.

The greyest of days

The monotony relieved by

Andreas Gursky at the newly refurbished Hayward Gallery.

It has taken two years and the 66 restored pyramidal roof lights,

letting in 'God's daylight' as decreed by Henry Moore 

 make a big difference to the atmosphere on the upper floor.

I don't think they did anything to improve the loos though.

Notes from the sick bay

Well it's hardly original of me I grant,

but I have a Cold.

Or it's had me, for about a week now.

Who's counting?

The days and nights are merging in a mess of screwed up tissues,

creased sheets,

menthol inhalers,

Miss Marple DVDs,

turmeric drinks because the internet says it's anti-inflammatory,

honey and lemon because that used to be good enough,

and the annoying thing is,

it's looking so bright and inviting out there.

I ought to be out in it.

I ought to be doing so many things.

There are birthdays to attend to.

And spring cleaning.

And grand-daughter to play with.

But I have a Cold.

And no one else must get it.

I'll come back to that important point.

My mother never got colds 

and I tell myself I have inherited that handy gene

because it really is quite a rare occurrence.

I saw this one eyeing me up a few times

but laughed it off.

Look who's laughing now.

Yesterday I thought I had turned a corner.

The violent sneezing stopped and the diaphragm stopped hurting.

(A cracked rib surely?)

I even spent most of the night asleep instead of wandering around at 2.40 am

(a time nobody should see twice a day) 

thinking the house seemed a little surprised

to be hosting me out of hours.

But no. The Cold had a new plan.

Travel down boys. Check out the bronchi.

See what mischief we can do there.

So now the coughing has started in earnest.

The forty a day sort of cough,

which coupled with the turmeric stained fingers is all too realistic.

Dr Google has been consulted again.

Plenty of fluids, 

stay hydrated, 

create a moist atmosphere - yes got the message, 

gargle,

Advil (why do I always end up at Mayo clinic?),

it's a virus so don't even think of asking for antibiotics,

if you've got a fever and chills and you're over 65 and pregnant

and you've been ill for much longer than one week you wuss, 

maybe then consult your physician. I mean GP.

But they've all got it too.

So stop feeling sorry for yourself.

It's only a Cold.

Nobody wants to hear about it.

And crucially, just before you're completely recovered

and you will be, give or take three weeks,

and even though wraith-like in appearance,

one of your nearest and dearest will get it

and not only will they cast a baleful eye in your direction,

despite all your hand washing,

but they will need nursing.

And the sick bay, so recently vacated

will be occupied again.