A sign of things to come ...

I'm aware right now, sitting in my study, that it's a quiet, sticky evening; the wind that sprang up around midday has vanished, the sky is clearer than it's been all day, and I'm rejoicing for the first time this year that I live in an old stone house with an insulated loft which doesn't heat up particularly in hot weather - because if I'm finding it sticky in here there must be at least 50 million people in the South who are finding it much more trying. 

Pilates class fairly warmed us all up this morning; we worked unbelievably hard and grunted a lot. Well, I grunted a lot. I also had to drive back and forth to collect Himself, as both our potential car-sharing opposite numbers were away on holiday; it gave me a chance at last just to get into my own new car and drive it off - because that's what it felt like after having not driven our previous car since the beginning of June. The new car is mine after all!

By the time lunchtime arrived, a wind had sprung up, so we ate indoors and then I fell asleep. It was therefore 4.30pm before we even thought of going for a walk to Benmore Gardens, and that was before we were held up further by The Man Who is Organising the Lane. That's the lane in the photo; the wee roller is borrowing that drive-in overnight before work begins tomorrow to level the surface a bit so that it's no longer like driving through the aftermath of a bombardment, to the detriment of the suspension. I was standing on our bit of lane, which along with the bit showing are the only parts of it that seem to have survived relatively intact the transition to motor traffic. When the Crescent was built (our house has the date 1897 on the front) this would be a rarely-frequented country lane-type access to the backs of two roads; when we came here 45 or so years ago the bin lorries trundled along it and contributed hugely to the dire potholes that have challenged years of amateurish attempts to fill them in. Apparently the man who's coming to do it agrees with us that scarifying and topping our bit of lane would be a silly thing to attempt, so we'll see ...

I find it hard to believe that the shower that appeared on our TV screens tonight are all in contention to lead the Tories. I realise to my horror that we're going to be exposed to their nauseating campaign videos until they're knocked back, and that only members of the Tory Party can do anything about it. This is not a good thought. And as for that clown Johnson carrying on as if nothing had happened ... Words fail me. G'night.