Friday 25th July 2014

Thursday.

It is easy to forget that, on occasion, it can get quite warm here in the Englands. It does also seem that when we have visitors from overseas, the weather is always rainy, or in some case we suffer record-breaking levels of rainfall. And despite repeated sayings of 'its not normally like this' they really don't believe us, because, well it always rains in England doesn't it?

I say this because it has been mighty warm this week. Not hot, as such, but warm. And humid. Sleeping is almost impossible, but we manage, and during the day when the sun comes up, the temperature and humidity rockets. To the point that the act of just walking is too much, and it is easier to sit in the shade sipping on a mint julip whislt complaining about the vapours.



And so it was on Thursday, the sun beat down, and I stayed inside trying to hammer together a new document to send to the customer. The day passed with me hardly going out, except to get some fresh air and shield my eyes from the sunshine.



At the end of the working day, I made a pint of squash and sat in the shade of the hedge, sipping. Even the cats have had enough. Usually, working from home means being pestered all day, but this week I hardly see then until the late afternoon when the shadows lengthen.



In the evening, we go for a walk, just along to the glade, and the sun was still beating down, meaning it was enough to walk there and back, looking over the golden countryside, and in places see where the harvest has begun. Indeed the large field that stretches from our street to Westcliffe was nearly finished, so we went along to snap the harvest, the farmer choosing that moment to finish for the day, so I got nice shots of a parked combine.

So it goes.

Friday.

Friday was much the same as Thursday. But with clouds.

I worked until four, then went onto the patio with more iced squash to read some and wait for the cats to come hither.

As it was pay day, and Jools received her first payslip from the LFB, we went out for dinner to celebrate. We walked down and then up the hill to the Red Lion for a pint, but the atmosphere was rather ruined by some old soak, pissed as a fart and holding court to anyone who would listen to his thoughts on life and work. Not that anyone had any choice, as it the way with a drunk, his volume knob had broke, and it was stuck on 11.



We left and walked the short distance to The Smugglers where we treated ourselves to Tournedos Rossini and bottle of Italian wine. It was very good, but it was rather warm in the pub, so as soon as we were done, we paid up and walked back down the hill, up the hill to home.