A walk in the park

I am quite happy to compromise on most things. For instance, now that the snow and wind has gone, I may well look back on this Spring and think of it as a good one, depending on the quality of the coming Summer. It is all relative.

The Summer of 1976 is permanently burned into the memories of anyone who was old enough to walk at the time. After two months of 30 degree heat and desiccated vegetation, I was in a launderette with a few other people when a stranger came breathlessly running in, shouting "It's raining!" to nobody in particular.

We all ran outside to find huge drops of rain making dark blobs on the dry pavement and we looked at each other and laughed. It was like a scene from a Western when the drought finally breaks and the farmer understands that he will have a harvest after all and the kids won't starve. I can still remember the smell that the rain made as it mixed with the dust and rose up from the hot slabs.

We had tea in the park last Sunday, and as I sat in the dappled shade of a large tree watching a crow eat a bit of discarded sausage roll (mine), I thought 'this is the perfect temperature'.

I have reached the age when I not only dislike extreme heat, but also sit in the park to drink tea.

H.I. said, "Do you want a game of crazy golf?"

I said, "No. Too energetic".