You know it's hot when....

When your washing on the line takes 15 mins to dry.
When you open the doors and windows and it makes things hotter.
When the butter is melted in the time it takes to transport it from the fridge to the bench.
When a big tough 8 year old starts playing in paddling pools.

When you wake up with a pounding heat headache every morning.
When your makeup slides off your face and onto your iPhone every time you take a call.
When you just can't drink too much iced coffee.
When you 'shade hop' all the way down the road.
When your ankles swell up just like your nanas.
When you're stuck in endless sweltering Tube rides, pressed up against men in damp synthetic shirts, smelling af flop sweat and lunchtime beer.

When the park turns brown.
When the garden needs watering every day.  Sometimes twice.
When even the weeds are dying.
When the lettuces all start to bolt.
When the lawn looks beyond redemption, even with regular watering.

Give us a break! Just a few cooler respite days! London doesn't wear hot weather as well as cities in more tropical climes (aircon and swimming pools)..

That time of year...

Wimbledon tennis. Meaning I stay well away from the Village and the hordes of fit, tanned people wandering around in expensive smart/casual sports wear. And the heaving bars with people spilling out onto the street. And the rackety clatter and whine of helicopters flying overhead and hovering over the courts for those birds eye views. Also, inevitably, I can expect rain.

And of course , accompanying Wimbledon, come the strawberries. Another bumper year it is too.  I made the rash decision last night to dispose of 3 kgs in a gigantic late night jam making session. I ended up using 2 preserving pans and the resulting luscious pink goo ended up in 12 jars and a 1 litre pyrex jug in the fridge, when I ran out of jars. (Have dug up more jars today and will see how this jam reheats for subsequent bottling).

And a little boy of my acquaintance is camping on my back lawn this weekend so he can get up early and beat the birds to the strawberries for breakfast. He'll be able to have a crack at the raspberries too, I'm happy to say. And I think we might be able to rustle up a back yard picnic too....(note last weekends effort - my kiwi cheese scones, bacon and egg pie and strawberries from under the clothes line).