Monday 18th July 2022

A year ago we went to the first A Word in the Park, the last day of my most recent gout attack, though rereading my blogs, it seems I had a swollen foot for a few days after that very hot day.

A year later and the weather is to turn even hotter.

I have been mentioning this for about a week, but Monday was when it arrived.

A bubble of super-hot air formed over Spain and Portugal, then moved north, bringing sky-high temperatures with it. It was expected to break the UK all-time temperature record of 38.5 degrees, even though Sunday it seemed warm enough, it would get ten degrees warmer. Maybe more.

It was too hot for Jools to go swimming. Too hot to lay in bed. Too hot to breathe.

I drank my second coffee sitting on the top patio, just cool enough before the rising sun heated it up. Scully snoozed beside me on the bench.

But I had to work.

So, once Jools leaft for work, I logged on, and although I worked well, completing the task I gave myself three days to complete, in just seven hours, it could not be denied that it was getting hotter and hotter.

The front door was open, a slight breeze flowed through, but it really made no difference.

By midday it was too hot for anything, really. Instead of baking bread, I had the last of the stir fry and fish cakes for lunch, though no carbs. But it did mean having the oven on and a stove ring too. It got hotter.

I ate lunch, then spent the afternoon trying to stay awake.

Which I managed until two, at which point I could feel a migraine building. So, I packed work away and put on a recording of Sinday's Le Tour stage, and lay oon the sofa, half-watching it.

The air was so thich, it was licke you could cut it with a knife, and syrup would ooze out. Cats were flaked out around the house, and on the TV, cyclists drove themselves on, in what should have been a "dull" transition phase. But heat and the end of the second week of racing made for tired brains and mistakes. I should point out that this was Sunday's race, taped when we were at Jen's. As Monday was a rest day.

I sat on the sweaty leather sofa, sat next to Scully, she was all stretched out, sparko.

I had thought through the menus for the week, and for the first three days we were to have salad. No cooking required.

A wise move as it turned out.

All I needed to do was boil some baby new potatoes, the rest was salad and Scotch eggs.

It hit the spot.

And meant the kitched didn't get much warmer than it already was.

In the evening there was the final group games in the women's Euros. I watch up to half time, France and Iceland playing out a good game, but France had already qualified.

It was going to be a long hot and humid night.

In the end, the all time UK temperature record still stood, but the Welsh one was smashed. But fear not, tomorrow will be ven hotter.