Was just going through a few old photos and saw this one.
Sitting in furry leopard slipper-boots and nasty old jumper, it's difficult to remember the intense heat of that day. We had taken Ezra for an ultra special treat to 'le clos de St Hilare' beautiful eatery in afore mentioned village where Mark sometimes plays the piano.
We sat in their garden and sweated. The shade of the trees made no difference; the air was all full up with some kind of syrup, no breeze. We acted out the meal, a small bowl of cherry tomatoes with a side dish of ice would have been very ample.
To the log pile now - rapidly disappearing log pile - early winter; allowing ourselves a little more heat in the day, tighten belts okay but being cold has to stop. Have taken to having four hot water bottles in bed with us now - glurping rubbery packets of heat. I'm rather fond of them, preferable to waking at 3.00 a.m after a dream of being in a sauna and finding the leccy blanket on.
Anyway, first catkins out this week, and strident blackbird song. Moving in the right direction.
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