Second Helpings

Here we go Again

The dawn of a new month and still officially summer. The weather is glorious, blue skies, pleasant temperatures and mucho gratitude for the opportunity to wine and dine out of doors.

I go to the city with my friend Big Pam. We saunter around the shops in crops and sandals, tutting about the fact they're already full of winter boots and the depressing blacks, greys and muted shades designers insist we wear for the season.

We sit in the market square where a city beach has been set up for the children on summer holidays from school. We sip a weak cocktail as the kids paddle on the man made beach, build sandcastles and generally whoop with joie de vivre in the unexpected, but very welcome sunshine.

I remark we have around five thousand burpdays in the family over the next few weeks and I really must buy some cards. We stroll along to the nearest card shop after removing cardigans and wiping our brows. As I step into the shop and look to the right I'm confronted by row upon row of bloody humbug cards.

My feel good factor from sunshine and alcohol disappears without trace. The familiar desire to hibernate while the rest of the nation indulges in the manic, obscene, over-indulgence the season of goodwill always instigates sets in. There should be a law against I swear. No one should be allowed to mention the damned word until at least the end of November. Grump.grump.

The second day of September has been even warmer, which was much appreciated despite the drowsy wasps determined to drown themselves in my wine. I've been over to the lovely town of Newark to see my friend Jane and indulge in my favourite things. For the fourth year in a row I've enjoyed the guilty pleasure I mentioned many moons ago on these blog pages and no one ever guessed what it was.

Maybe I will have some not-so-dirty little secrets to savour after all. Don't you just love a good mystery?