22nd July 2012

At long last, the weather gods have decided to take pity on us! After what felt like an eternity of drizzle and damp socks, the sun has finally made an appearance. I’m so giddy with excitement, I might even dust off my shorts and sandals. Of course, two days of sunshine do not a summer make, but at this point, beggars can’t be choosers.

Speaking of choosers, the England cricket team aren’t. They couldn’t bat their way out of a damp paper bag, even with the sun shining. Honestly, it’s as if they’re being paid to make us hate the sport.

Nan, meanwhile, has been settling into her new flat like a pro. She’s tearing around on her mobility scooter like Lewis Hamilton on four small wheels, visiting family, and whipping up culinary delights. Her latest adventure involved buying an oxtail so enormous it had to be sawn in half before it would fit in a pan. That’s commitment to stew if ever I’ve seen it.

Our recent furniture-hunting mission turned up the perfect TV cabinet for her glass ornaments, and she treated herself to a cowhide rug, possibly the most glamorous thing she’s ever owned. All she needs now is a chandelier, and she’ll be living like a duchess.

Last week, Nan, Sarah, and I risked the great outdoors and headed to Waterloo Lakes for a picnic. Miraculously, the heavens didn’t open. Sarah’s back to driving lessons and has landed a job in the probation service. She’s also somehow acquired a snowboard, because nothing says “British summer” like an impulse purchase involving snow.

I, meanwhile, won four tickets to an Olympic event. I handed them straight over to Sarah, partly because she deserved cheering up after the Olympic security training course she applied for was cancelled. The organisers, G4S, managed to forget that candidates from outside London would need somewhere to stay. A minor detail. One wonders how they ever thought they could manage actual security.

In the garden, I’ve been digging up potatoes; they are tiny, blue, and frankly quite alarming. The weather has been hopeless for veg, although the onions and fruit are thriving. I’ve been waging war on weeds like some sort of allotment crusader, hoe in hand, defending my spuds against nature’s relentless invasion.

Jamie has rekindled his passion for model aeroplanes. He now spends his time with a group of seasoned enthusiasts at the model aeroplane club, a sort of retirement home for hobbyists with glue-stained fingers.

To top it all off, Sue and I went to see Red Dog, an Australian film about a dog who sets out to find his master. It was touching, heart-warming, and slightly baffling because of the accents.