Turn Left At Dover

I haven’t written anything for months. Sorry.  Canadian Sister came over to stay just after Christmas, laden with bugs, gave the bugs to me, returned to Canada and got better. Whereas in March I was still trying to sleep propped up in the corner of the sofa because I couldn’t manage to breathe and lie down at the same time. Feeling that bad for that long kind of makes you feel that life is not worth living, let alone blogging about.

Anyway, where is the heatwave? For days the BBC have been exhibiting these bright red charts and warning us of heatwave horrors on their way to us from France. Apparently Nimes or somewhere similar is set to exceed last year’s summer heat record by one degree. If it does so it will also be setting a new temperature record for France. Global Whatsit, of course. They show pictures of temporary mist machines set up in public places, of young ladies in chic shorts prancing about in Parisian fountains. Apparently air-conditioned cool places have been pinpointed all over that city for citizens to escape into when the midday sun becomes unbearable. And this – delight – is about to blaze its way up to the UK.

In Britain, of course, the nearest thing to air-conditioning is the freezer section of Tesco. I was thinking of driving into Town and spending a surreptitious hour or two Freezer Bathing with an empty wire basket if things got too bad. Never do to admit that one was wilting, of course. Mad Dogs and Englishmen and all that.

I also reviewed my underwear. I decided I had to find an alternative to bras, which have been the bane of my very, very long life – at least, it seems very long when I think of all those sweltering days in the office with Les Girls encased in sturdy elastic and my shoulders being cut into by even sturdier elastic. I abhor bras. When I was young it was rumoured that my contemporaries were burning theirs in the cause of women’s liberation, although I never actually saw one being burnt and it still seemed impossible, on pain of pointed stares and terminal embarrassment, to go out in public – let alone to work – without one.

I decided to purchase a pack of three boob tubes (made in China, of course) in view of the apocalyptically hot weather. They might be cooler, and I would be able to open the door to Amazon man without having to rush about looking for a shirt to disguise any unwarranted jiggliness.  So now I am experimenting with them. They are cooler but they worry me. I am thinking  that, lacking in straps, the thing is going to end up around my waist. Or ride up suddenly, and I will find myself opening the door to the Amazon man with an inelegant roll of elastic somewhere north of my armpits. Not that he’d probably notice. They don’t look at you, just toss the parcel in your general direction and run away.

I woke up this morn expecting Dante’s Inferno, having left all the windows propped a little way open overnight to get a through draught without letting the nineteen cats go sailing down into the garden – no, seventeen – one is blind and one is very, very old – they probably wouldn’t be so foolhardy – only to find it was cool. Overcast even. I went out to collect the dustbin and actually had to put on a cardigan over my sawn-off jeans, loose teeshirt, newly-purchased boob tube etc. So where exactly is this heatwave?

If asked where anywhere ‘foreign’ was my father would invariably reply Turn Left At Dover. I guess I have inherited his devil-may-care attitude to Geography. Canadian Sister is, I believe, currently on a short break in a place called Jasper with some female friends. At any rate, she hasn’t WhatsApp’d me for while. Yes, I have mastered WhatsApp. And today I even managed to stuff an SD card in my Kindle Fire. What next? A job with Microsoft?

To begin with I was convinced that this idyllic Jasper short-break destination was in Colorado. Surely Colorado is quite a long way away from Edmonton, I mused. Isn’t it in America? Which part of America is Colorado in? Then I realised I was probably thinking of Boulder, which may or may not be in Colorado, wherever Colorado is, very possibly America. Finally I bothered to Google jasper Canada map and discovered that Jasper is left of Edmonton and down a bit, in what looks like the Rocky Mountains. I am sure she will enjoy that. Whether the three ladies she is sharing a hotel room with will enjoy it, I am not sure. Can only hope that they are not unpleasant to her, as she won’t understand why.

Well, I was going to tell you how my garage was flooded in a positively vicious thunder-and-lightning storm a couple of days ago – Global Whatsit again, no doubt – and how Snoots the moustachioed black and white cat nibbled chunks out of my one and only remaining loaf of bread all down one side through the plastic – not once but twice.

I was going to tell what I had been reading, and all about the dishcloths I had been knitting. Oh yes, and that the man over the road had scissor-trimmed the front two-thirds of his ancient blind poodle-type dog (he’s doing her in instalments) and all about a lady called Ilona in Yorkshire who believes in wearing Boys Pants because they’re cheaper and more substantial, and my attempts to manufacture handkerchiefs out of some spare pillow-cases….

But I mustn’t go on. Gotta save something exciting for next time…

6 thoughts on “Turn Left At Dover

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s