I had written a whole essay for today’s post about why I love heatwaves, but when I read it back there were more things I hated about heatwaves than loved about heatwaves, and after an hour or so of late-night editing I just thought CRILLY, what an earth are you gabbling on about?
So the essay on heatwaves has gone into trash and here we are with a blank page – though, pleasingly, I’ve already managed to type 72 words without saying anything of importance whatsoever. Which feels very satisfying, like when I used to manage to knock out a three hundred word introduction to a thousand word essay, describing what I intended to discuss, knowing that I’d use up another two hundred at the end for some sort of blindingly obvious conclusion to my argument.
I bloody love a heatwave. And I’m sorry – am truly sorry – for those who suffer through them, but I am something of a heatwave fanatic. Any inkling of a heatwave, via weatherman or iPhone app, and I turn into a crazed lunatic, going to great lengths to rearrange my diary so that I can spend the maximum amount of time wallowing in the great outdoors. “CLEAR MY SCHEDULE! FETCH THE SUMMER CLOTHES BAG FROM THE LOFT!”
In my mind, the British heatwave is my opportunity to prove that a holiday abroad is not necessary; in my mind, I lie out on my lounger or deckchair for days on end, eating watermelon and bowls of Greek salad, ploughing through my reading list. In reality, I manage to sit out for ten, perhaps twenty minutes at the most in any one session before I become bored, too hot, or inexplicably obsessed with performing a domestic task that was hitherto never on my radar. A sudden need to change all of my Tesco Clubcard points into Pizza Express vouchers (I rarely even go to Pizza Express!) or find and file my bank statements for the tax year 14-15, or find the instructions for the Magimix we gave away in 2011.
Anyway, I’m losing the plot again here. I have heat-induced brain addle (I forgot to open the bedroom window last night so am typing this in a virtual sauna) and must go and drink a glass of water. Here’s a cat photo:
For those asking why Dexter is so rarely in photos, here’s a picture with Dexter, which will hopefully serve to both satisfy those wanting to see Dexter and illustrate why he is never in photos:
He is physically unable to stay still for more than two seconds. Polar opposite of Mr Bear the cat, who can quite often be found in the same prone position for up to ten hours in a row.
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