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There’s only so many times you can write about how hot it is, and how you spend your lunchtime sunbathing in Soho square, but it is truly idyllic at the moment. So hot it’s like being on holiday and it’s only going to get hotter. Tomorrow it will break records, and the day after that it will break altogether as it descends into storms and turbulent upset.

For now, though, I’m enjoying it, and I went round to Paul’s tonight to eat dinner in the garden. It was half nine and still balmy. Too dark to see anything but the dying minutes of a golden sky, and the silhouette of the trees before it, but closer at hand was the gently back sweep of a hypnotic sprinkler, swaying lazily back and forth like a worn out woozy drinker.

The cool water pattered down on the hot dry earth and brought it to life. The grass sparkled in the light shining out through the kitchen window, and the smell of wet soil filled the air. It’s something I’ve not smelt in far too long; since the time when conkers were something to pick up and thread on a boot lace, not kick away down the street.

Sitting, there watching its gentle swinging as it fanned out like a peacock’s tail, I remembered when as a kid I couldn’t help but run back and forth through the thin cold veins of of the spray. Now, approaching 30 at breakneck speed, I’d rather sit and watch it with a mug of tea in my hand and wonder why I’m getting so nostalgic.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 14th, 2003 at 11:09 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.