It’s been one of those relatively rare Sundays when the weather matches the name. In fact it has been utterly stunning. Hot, cloudless and still, the oxytocin levels have been punching holes in the roof. Alison, Callie and I have spent the day enjoying our beautiful garden; Alison cutting, pruning and planting, me digging up my abortion of a vegetable patch that has singularly failed to match expectations and Callie moving from one favourite sunny spot to another favoured shady location, all of which are conveniently placed to keep a sharp eye on the overhead activity, which consists of a family of squirrels flying from the sycamores on the left, across the tops of the cherry and apple trees to the conifer on the right. Despite racing from one side of the garden to the other and back, barking aggressively and leaping six feet up the tree trunks like a demented dervish she has as much chance of catching them as I do Usain Bolt, although they do occasionally venture down onto terra firma, just to tease her. Occasionally the Hunt takes on a whole new level of freneticism when one of the many urban foxes that infest our locale ventures into No.12 territory. I have had to put up high fencing all around our plot to prevent Callie from disappearing into the suburban wilderness in hot pursuit of Reynard, but even so she has managed to find a way out on the odd occasion, with the smell of blood in her nostrils. The lovely, cuddly little things are becoming a serious menace. Sadly the East Sussex and Romney Marsh Foxhounds probably wouldn’t be appreciated in downtown Eastbourne.
This little burst of Indian Summer has now created the perfect conditions for anticyclonic gloom to accumulate. (Please see No.207) With the mercury rising in both barometers and thermometers, cloudless skies and a temperature inversion all is set for the polluted air to be trapped close to the earth’s surface, meaning that viewing oil tankers one mile out in the English Channel is impossible, let alone catching a glimpse of marauding immigrants casting off from Dunkirk or Calais. If those impressionable youths who profess to be ‘Weather Forecasters’ would tear themselves away from their computer screens for one moment and risk looking out of the window, they would observe what Anticyclonic Gloom actually is!
It seems appropriate that we should be having a late burst of summer with the Indian cricket team providing high entertainment on the playing fields of England. The remarkable thing about the 4th test (of 5) at the Oval is that both sides have fought tooth and nail and England have, so far, declined to collapse in their usual frenzied heap. However, they have to bat all day on the final day to either force a draw or even, roll of drums, secure an improbable record-breaking win on a fifth day turning pitch. For the unenlightened, that doesn’t mean that the pitch is somehow miraculously revolving, merely that when the spinning ball hits the turf it can change direction sharply and quickly, making batting more hazardous than crossing Piccadilly Circus in the rush hour.
One thing is for certain. The high pressure system means that neither rain, snow, nor bad light will curtail the day’s activities. If things go badly for England, the best we can hope for is pestilence. Fingers crossed the Land of Hope is also filled with Glory.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 