Lordy, but it's bloody hot today. And I am personally so damn hot that I may well explode at any moment. Be prepared for fires in Godalming for sure. That'll be me. Hmm, as you can tell, I am officially Not Good in the Heat. Actually, I'm not good in any extreme weather, but heat is my least favourite. I think. This is the real setback of living in a top floor flat which is to all intents and purposes nothing but roofspace. It's sweltering in summer and freezing in winter. No matter what we do. Currently, we are keeping the portable fan on all night, just in order to be cool enough to sleep. Sadly this doesn't work during the day as Lord H and I are usually in different rooms. Hmm, perhaps it's time for another fan? Now that would be radical.
Anyway today, because of the heat (have I mentioned that yet?), I haven't done very much apart from droop around and groan a lot. So much like a normal day for me then. Oh, but I did wash the car, so feel very noble. And ... um ... hot. Also, I put on my special Good Wife Hat and made the nectarine (couldn't find any plums, dammit) crumble I promised Lord H last week. Very lovely for lunch with vanilla ice cream, I must say. Went down a treat.
I was intending to set today aside to make sure my synopsis for The Gifting (anyone remember that one? No, I didn't think so - but don't worry as neither does anyone else!) is up-to-date with what I've actually written, but I find I've already done it. God, but I'm good. So good that sometimes I don't even remember being it. Sigh. Lord H congratulated me on saving a whole day of my life, though I then wondered what the hell I should do with it. Rest? What's that?? However, I've solved the problem and done a few more paragraphs to Hallsfoot's Battle instead and am now at just over 15,000 words. And I'm even beginning to be interested in it again, hurrah! Which is reassuring, I must say.
This afternoon, I attempted to have a nap but was prevented from so doing from (a) too much ruddy heat (in case you hadn't realised), (b) a peculiar lack of tiredness which I can only blame on the double dose of Oestrogen HRT I've been - under doctor's orders - giving myself recently (which is a bummer really, as being tired is my usual state and I'm unsure what to do if I'm not), and (c) too many bloody flies. Lordy, but I hate flies. If I was in charge, I'd have them all shot. Painfully and terminally. They just clutter up the airspace.
Lord H and I are planning to watch the glorious "Midsomer Murders" on TV tonight, which this week appears to have so much plot that it could probably package up half of it, sell to Ian McEwan (ah, bitch, bitch - I love it!) and still not notice the loss very much. I can see I'm going to have to keep alert - which should be no problem indeed, thanks to this being Oestrogen City UK.
This week's haiku:
All along the hedge
gatekeeper butterflies dance,
spin the leaves to gold.
Today's nice things:
1. Realising I've already updated the synopsis