Oooof

It's hot. And humid. By hot I mean low 80s, which to one who thinks that 73 constitutes a heatwave is superhot. Not to mention high humidity, did I mention that? (We don't get given figures on UK weather reports, but the local Beeb lunchtime one did actually say that it was, so it must be very. If that makes any sense at all.

I am actually not really complaining, we need a summer.

Spent yesterday back at AH at the Open Day, with the DSM and a couple of the class regulars, and had a lovely day. Despite the fact that the Garden Room was like a sauna. Had this splendid conversation about what were the true essentials in life, which centred around spinning, knitting and weaving (&etc) and producing as much of ones own food as possible. One of them is a Master Beekeeper, which lead us in to medical stuff that could be supplied, candles and soap, which she also makes. Deeply satisfying!

Saturday night, we trotted off down to the Blue Pig for, of all things, a poetry reading, which was excellent. Small confession - I used to write bad poetry a very long time ago, and still feel the urge from time to time. The following was inspired by a juxtaposition of events, the poetry reading, driving through Longridge and seeing signs for a Roman Military display, and passing a lone cyclist in tight red lycra. I am not going to apologise, its the silly season.

Gluteus Maximus, firm of purpose, bold of eye
Should have been, by rights
At the very least a centurion, marching proud,
Striding out in burnished greaves behind
The Eagle.
At least, that was the opinion of his mum.
But things don't always work out, all
Is not equal.
And the poor chap ended up, simply
A bum.

gw