By Veronica


In a shady corner with a jug (or rather repurposed vase) of tinto de verano. Hot again today. We had another barbecue, Lidl's finest hamburgers this time, preceded by a mango and avocado salad. Lots of lounging.

In the evening S went for a run and I walked along the sea front to identify a tapas bar that J had recommended yesterday evening. It was open, so we had a glass there and then stopped at the Italian ice cream place to finish our "dinner".

I never watch the government press conferences, but Twitter burst into flames as soon as Boris Johnson started speaking, and continued to blaze for hours. The French phrase foutage de gueule sprang to mind. He might as well have saved everyone time by stepping up to the podium, giving the finger to the assembled press, and then walking off again to resume his weekend of inactivity. I don't have words to describe this bunch of entitled chancers. Rage is an entirely appropriate reaction.

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