Saturday June 10, 2006
I got the list of utility suppliers today, along with satisfactory answers to Sally’s last and final batch of questions, and with exchange pencilled in for Monday or Tuesday next week. The sellers have had an attack of the sensibles, however, and have asked that completion be set for the 22nd, which suits me much more than the unseemly haste that’d been suggested earlier.
So, the files are complete, I have the necessary funds in my current account ready for immediate transfer and I can hear the chicks inside the eggs just about ready to hatch into chickens.
It’d been forecast to be the hottest day yet so I set out quite early to get my shopping done before the wilt set in. Even so, it was beastly hot, particularly in the supermarket carpark which, typically, seems always to hotter, or colder, than anywhere for miles around. Back in the caravan I stowed the goods away in the tiny fridge, grabbed a coffee, and collapsed on the sofa.
“I’m officially on wilt strike,” I said. “It’s too perishin’ hot and airless for me now.”
“Good for you. Wish I could do the same.”
And then, you could have knocked me down with a catnip mouse, the sky clouded over, the wind got up, changed direction, and the temperature dropped several degrees in less than an hour. Bliss.
I kept looking up at the sky, expecting thunder, but although it did feel dreadfully electric throughout the afternoon and early evening, we had no such luck. A good, resounding thunder storm along with a drenching rain would finish off the hot spell in the proper, English manner. Ah well. Perhaps tomorrow, or Monday.
So I spent the last of the evening sitting on the verandah outside the bar, looking out over the sea, and sipping brandy and American, the ice chinking softly against the glass. The light faded, Graham joined me for a chat during a quiet moment, and then I poddled down to the caravan to enjoy ten minutes sitting on the step with Dolly at my side. We enjoyed that.