Jottings

I've lost count of the number of sunny days we've had in succession- but it's getting to be thoroughly unEnglish. People are beginning to talk about the heatwave of '76. Saddleworth Moor is on fire.

Matthew plonked the huge pile of chippings on top of the cover for the septic tank and I've been shifting it. The cat will be happy. The cover warms up beautifully in the sun which makes it one of his favourite places for stretching out and watching the world go by.

Paul Theroux's Hotel Honolulu has held my attention even though he has sex on the brain and it gets tiresome. He's a story-teller in the Maupassant tradition- anecdotes with a twist in the tail. Sometimes he's glib, sometimes he's perceptive. I guess I've learned a thing or two about modern Hawaii. 

I'm not following the World Cup but I'm taking an interest. The atmosphere seems different this year- friendlier. Who knew Stalingrad Volgograd was so cheery and laid back.  The England team- from the manager down- all seem like thoroughly nice blokes- which hasn't always been the case.