Sunday 29th June 2025

It was Sunday.

The third day of Glastonbury Fayre, and now something to be avoided rather than seeked out.

I have heard nothing of this year's festival. I am aware that Pulp were the not very well disguised secret act on Saturday, and Rod the Mod was the closing act on Sunday.

Yes, the same Rod who spoke in support of Enoch Powell after his "Rivers of blood" speech, and now suggests we give Nigel a chance.

It is difficult to separate what an artist says and does, but let me close by saying that The Faces were a closed book to him until it was financially profitable for him do their songbook again, after three out of the five members were dead.

Glastonbury also means the radio, at least Radio 6, is unlistenable, so we don't. There is other stuff, or the silence of St Maggies, broken only by the alarm call of a Blackbird after magpies raid its nest.

I do more deadheading, watering, and generally make myself busy.

The garden is full of butterflies. Mostly Large whites, but a few Small, and maybe a Southern small mixed in. Only a closer look would confirm.

With the U21 final the night before, there is just the Club World Cup or the Women's Euros to watch now, as the endless summer without football enters is second 24 hours.

There's always football.

Somewhere.

Its just a case of if we care.

Or not.

This was the first day of a three, or four, day heatwave, with temperatures expected into the low 30s on Monday and Tuesday.

Too hot to do much.

Lunch was chorizo hash. Yes it was hot and cooking made it hotter, but the next two days would be hotter still.

Salad from now on, until temperatures return to normal.

We laze the afternoon away, then have the radio on in the evening as we dine of cheese and crackers for supper.

Despite doing nothing, I was still tired at half eight.

Bed time.