What can we say? Prime Minister resigned, hotter than the desert, school’s almost out. That was the week that was.
Me? I’ve mainly been contemplating my legs. I own one pair of ‘going out’ shorts. What I mean by that is a pair of shorts that are not so indecently short that they require hair removal. They’re beige and used to be so big I could hoik them up and down without troubling the zip but now I am a year older this feature is no longer. I’m too hot to care.
One of my white legs and Ted trying to reach my snack of cold pasta.
My legs are not just white but see through. Blue veins on display. The roots of my leg hair little black dots threatening to grow back and peak over the skin. They have never knowingly tanned in all their 46 years. Even that holiday in Tenerife circa 1995 when my shoulders burnt so badly they wept. Why is this? I don’t even hanker after tanned legs now, Johnson’s Holiday Skin self-tanning body lotion and it’s foul giveaway stench but a bad memory. But how are my legs exempt? Is it their Irish heritage? Made for trudging through dew rather than sand? One of my great great great grandfathers (maybe even greater than this), James Hawker, was a poacher. He wrote a book about it. Perhaps these legs were made for deer stalking?
If I had been Born an idiot and unfit to carry a gun - though with Plenty of Cash - they would have called me a grand sportsman. Being Born Poor, I am called a Poacher.
When you give a poacher permission to kill game you take the Sugar out of the ginger bread. You rob him of the pleasure it is to an expert poacher to steal a march not on the game but on the men who claim it for their own. I have poached more for Revenge than Gain.
So much for the Sacred Game. There is no man in England who Run more Risks, Been in more Dangerous Scrapes than me. Yet the only time I have Been in Prison was Not for Poaching but for getting a Poor Old widow woman a Bundle of Sticks as she had no coal. A Man who still Lives told the Keepers I had a Gun. It was a Long Piece of Ash, and they knew this Oadby man had told a Lie. But they sent me to Leicester Gaol for seven Days. They just thought it was time I was there. Ever Since I have Poached with more Bitterness against the Class. If I am able, I Will Poach Till I Die.
- A Victorian Poacher: James Hawker’s Journal
My other preoccupation has been, like every other dog owner, keeping the canine member of the family as cool and as entertained as possible without being outside. All I can say is that he’s lucky he’s domesticated. Without human guidance Teddy would not have made it through this week. Hell bent on sun bathing, refusing to play in his paddling pool and trying to catch flying insects regardless of their stinging status. He’s a hot and bothered idiot and we love him.
On the dog front we are thinking of getting another dog. It’s been on the cards since we managed to forget the terrible puppy months when Ted was a shark who ate the skirting boards, the antique 1920’s curtains and his own poo. He was so cute and yet I barely took any photos of him; such was my regret and irritation. Anyway, a bit like when you start to try for your second child, we believe it might not be as bad this time so we’re ready. We’re thinking a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. In my heart what I want is a highly opinionated Chihuahua who will boss Ted the huge 45 kilo Golden Retriever around and maybe ride on his back, but this is some kind of AI fever dream, I know that. And Chihuahuas are apparently quite barky so maybe not. We have neighbours attached to our house so this feels antisocial.
In other news one of my sons has been fishing. I can’t work out if this is a ruse and actually fishing means something entirely different these days. Or if he’s just catching fish. He’s almost 18 so I have no way of knowing. He drove himself there, managed to not get sunburnt and even packed snacks and extra water. My work with him is nearly done. (Obvs not, but you know, he’s no longer at risk of heat stroke and abduction, just a couple of things off my mind).
What about you? How was your week? How hot are you? Is fishing a euphemism? Answers on a comment below:
I have deep and long Mediterranean genetics and the DNA test to prove it and my legs have never once tanned in 46 years. My shoulders and face get a faint glow, even though I coat them in factor 50 and top up regularly. But my legs deflect light. They might, after 2 weeks directly exposed to Greek sun during which I don't always bother with below-the-waist sun cream (except over a mole), deign to look like a glass of milk to which a tea bag has been introduced from a distance. Meanwhile Ash, product of diaspora Jews living in frigid countries for centuries - and whose recent bloodline even includes one very English convert - tans overnight all over as if he wandered into the St Tropez section and went mad with the testers.
I will never get over this injustice.
I missed the chance to fulfil a bucket list item yesterday. After being in hospital last year and still walking with sticks or a zimmer frame - grateful to be alive though, I missed seeing Garth Brooks (Top tier American country singer if you haven’t heard of him!) at Hyde Park. It’s been 28 years since he last came to UK and I had tickets. With the heat and it being a standing event, I realistically couldn’t do it. Maybe I was being a bit optimistic when I got the tickets last September but would rather have a ticket and there be a chance of making it than have no ticket and no chance. Sad, but it is what it is 😞
Glad the weather has broken for now, wearing thick compression wraps on my legs was unbearable. Oh well, onwards x