…. called Summer (she had a sister called Sky – you have to feel sorry for kids with parents like that) and she had a boyfriend who was absolutely devoted to her. They used to have their own private little moments and like all teenagers they would get up to no good – in one particular way that pleased the young gentleman greatly.
After a while Summer moved on to pastures new and the young gentleman (whose name I forget) was devastated. No subsequent girlfriend that he found could make up for what he had lost. One day he confided in a girlfriend exactly what it was that made his relationship with Summer so special.
“That’s no big deal” she replied. “i have no inhibitions about that”
So a short while later, right after one of these private moments, she turned to him and said
“Has that helped you rekindle some of your enthusiasm for life?”
“Well” he replied, “one swallow doesn’t make a Summer”.
And that’s really the story of what has happened here this last few days. The temperature has warmed up dramatically and it’s feeling warm. I told you the other day about the temperature in the verandah. Yesterday it reached 30.6 degrees which is the highest total since October 30th.
Today though was not so impressive. The morning was fine and I finished round by Claude’s at 13:45. It’s sad to see the fruits of their 46 years of married life end up like this but age and ill-health catch up with everyone sooner or later. I got back the two huge armoured cupboards that I gave him back in 2002. He also gave me two kitchen unit bases – the 600mm size – and I’m going to put them upstairs in the barn with a plank or two across the top to make a joinery bench, using the two large cupboards to store my tools, nails, screws and the like. I’m glad I put a trapdoor in the barn floor when I redid it, so that I can lift stuff up and down.
This afternoon I carried on in the garden but the torrential rain that fell later on drove me inside. I continued with the insulation on the bedroom wall for a while until the light went – this torrential rainfall (we had 9mm in minutes) plotted everything out.
And the Parisian is nosing around the ruined house by here and hacking away at the undergrowth. He’s up to something, my nasty suspicious little mind tells me, and I wonder what it is. He had a whinge about the Passat and the Escort blocking the track. He’s right but there’s nothing much I can do about this until the local Mayor pulls his finger out and does something about my proposition about buying the communal land round here. I suppose I’d better go and have a chat to him on Saturday.
