A strange day. Started out clammy, chilly, and grey. Then, with a click almost, the clouds pulled back, the sun came out and, had I not had the presence of mind to close the blinds and pull the curtains on the house, it would have turned into a solar furnace in thirty minutes. Or less.
Poor Graham was wilting down in the caravan until I told him about pulling the curtains across and he said it helped almost immediately.
It seems, if you can believe the Met. Office, that we are poised on the edge of a heatwave. Great. If that happens I shall drive out on Monday morning to do my shopping for the week before the heat of the day. And then stay home until the nastiness goes away.
I’m lucky to be able to do that.
Other than that, an uneventful day. A young man with a tartan back-pack came to deliver a leaflet begging me to bag up my old clothes and place them on the kerbside on Monday. Yeah. Like I’m willing to put the residual value of my rags straight into the hands of a commercial set up rather than pass them on to a registered and worthwhile charity. Not me, Charlie Brown, not me.
So, heatwaves, lovely sunny days, rag and bone men and Charlie Brown flitting into my memory in a cloud of pipe smoke, muttering ’May his rabbits die’. What a good old guy Charlie was.
