So after all the excitement of my bosses possible death, I'm rather subdued on what is to be the hottest day of the year, so far.
Got loads to do of course. Mostly to do with all things horticultural. Does rubbing down a garden chair qualify as horticulture? I suppose if I do the deed in shorts and straw hat it does.
When I get a chance I must post a pic in me in my white shorts astride a rake. I don't own a pony unfortunately.
But before all that I have to make Meatballs.
Monty is being particularly stroppy this morning, miaowing at the door wanting to go out, so I gave in to his whining but only on account of the washing needing to be pegged up. Wouldn't have let him out otherwise, because he'd have only got into all kinds of scrapes and mishaps. No matey, you have to suffer the embarassment of having your mum in tow.
Now other summer matters.
Wimbledon starts on the 22nd June and I can barely contain my thrills. The thought of seeing the new roof on Centre court going back and forth back and forth due to the vagaries of the British weather. I wonder if someone will capture Sir Cliff Richard so that when the start/stop mechanism fails he'll be on hand to warble our rain splashed tears away. I do hope so. How old is he now I wonder? Must be nearing 70 if he's a day. Still he's as much of a British institution as Wimbledon so I'll give him a little love.
Strawberries. Had some in a trifle. I'd sat them on top of a sliced raspberry sponge cake and then covered it all with custard, cream, toasted almonds and more straws. Delicate flavours which turns me pig like. I'm so ashamed.
Football. England play Andorra next week, I think. Bunting at the ready.
Dresses. Bought a couple recently. Secondhand of course and I love them, but one I feel is surely the mark of impending middle aged madness. So I will only wear it when I'm drinking spritzers in a field in a Fambridge.
That's enough summer fun for one morning, after all I've got the rest of June and all of July and August to tell you what's hot and what's not!
2 comments:
70 years young. Sir Cliff still sings and bats those eyes. But can he act? Oh well. Still he remains. My introduction to him in the States was Devil Woman. I kinda liked that tune. It was my companion during many a turns with homework.
Jerry from the coast
Cliff can't act for toffee but he's one of Britain's most loved performers. 'Devil Woman' was his best tune but seeing him gyrate was too too awful. Still at least it was helpful to you!
Another old Queen but she gyrates beautifully
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