It’s been hot. Beyond hot, hot like it’s never been before – literally. So hot that we had to close all the blinds to stop the sun getting in. So hot, that to sleep is an impossibility and to move uses up all your energy. I can’t cope in the heat – this is why I don’t go abroad in the summer.
I did get to the seaside for a few days, to paddle in the sea and watch the world go by, which was an achievement as the sat nav sent me round the back of beyond to avoid some road works and I managed to get on the A1 in the wrong direction – but we roll.
July also saw the return of the river festival, the first since pandemic. Where the world and his wife, crammed by the river to listen to music, watch boat races & pay extortionate amounts of money for a dodgy burger and a half melted ice cream, in some sort of covid soup. We are so close to the river now, we could listen to the festival in the garden when it became too hot to mingle. I did see for the first time the best band – not sure a small market town in the shires was really ready for sexy Jesus – as for myself, I was happy to join the congregation.
My Dad opened his garden to the first of the Friday evening soirées since he has rebuilt the fire area. And the husband reached the grand old age of 51.
In the news – Boris resigns. Finally, after many many months of apologising and “getting on with job” turns out it having two of your mates leave the party was the final straw. While the country ended the month wondering who would be the next prime minister and how the hell they were going to pay for literally anything this winter, I ended the month watching an icon. With Putin still causing havoc in Ukraine and the cost of covid still to be paid for, the country limps towards recession and the cost of living spirals out of control. It feels a lot like the 70s.
much love xx
The Frank Journals 