The hot weather has been surprisingly difficult; there was a time, not so long ago, when I never felt too hot, and often not warm enough. (Once I came out in goose pimples in Majorca in high summer, because the temperature dropped below 70 F.) It's probably my age.
At work, I've spent as much time as possible in the air-conditioned areas; and at home simply stayed indoors until it's cooler in the evenings, when the raspberries have been picked, and the plants in pots watered.
It's been a good year for pollen beetles and raspberry beetles, the roses, clematis and day lilies; a bad year for the acanthus, verbascums, and achilleas. So far, all our young trees look OK; on our trip to Cambridge last weekend it was quite noticeable how many trees were suffering from the heat, with brown and withering leaves - as we went south, there were more and more.
As usual, as soon as the sun shines, there have been regrettable displays of acres of flesh one would rather not have to view, much of it rather over-barbecued.
Good heavens - I sounded just like my mother then! So, on second thoughts, let it all hang out, get burnt, and parade it down the street at midday. Where did I leave my lycra shorts?