Lazin' on a sunny afternoon...
I like this hot weather we're having at the moment.
But it does bring out the worst in us Brits. As soon as there is any chance that the mercury might rise out of the blue section, we remove all unnecessary clothing, stretch out on the nearest sun lounger and inflict our goose-pimpled blue mottled skin to an unsuspecting world. Of course, as our bodies have not seen sun for probably a year or so, we like to be careful, slathering on the factor 50 just in case we burn, and setting phone alarms so that we can turn over every half an hour (or is that just me that does that?) The end result of this is that we have no suntan, just red angry skin where we missed the factor 50, and a peeling nose. Where's the tube of St Tropez when you need it?
So yesterday, despite me wanting to soak up some sunshine, the husband and I trekked up to Milton Keynes again, to take two large items of furniture up to daughter number two's new home. Try as we might, we hadn't been able to squeeze these into her car, so a second trip was needed. She had asked us to come up around 2.00 as she'd had a big night out on Saturday, resulting in a Sunday hangover.
As we walked up the stairs with the furniture, she got everything in its place and asked us if we were hungry. Well, this was a new one on me, I can tell you. Had she made us a Sunday roast? Were there sandwiches on offer? A cake, perhaps?
'Well we haven't eaten', said the husband, looking at me with those eyes he uses when roast beef is on offer.
'Good', says daughter number two. 'The pub round the corner does a great Sunday roast. Shall we go?'
By this what she really meant, was, 'I have a hangover. I need a roast dinner. I am poor. You are paying'.
It was a very good roast dinner as it happened. The Yorkshire puddings were better than mine according to the husband. Well bearing in mind that no member of my family likes my Yorkshire puddings, preferring the frozen fluffiness of Aunt Bessie, this wasn't saying much.
We were offered a quick cup of tea at her's then kicked out - she was looking for a post-roast nap (as were we, but we had to drive 57 miles home again).
The sun was still shining as we got home, so it was off with the clothing and out on the deckchair for me for some late rays. The husband, never a fan of the sunshine, fell asleep in the lounge in front of the television, surrounded by schnauzers.
Pommel horse has that effect on him...
But it does bring out the worst in us Brits. As soon as there is any chance that the mercury might rise out of the blue section, we remove all unnecessary clothing, stretch out on the nearest sun lounger and inflict our goose-pimpled blue mottled skin to an unsuspecting world. Of course, as our bodies have not seen sun for probably a year or so, we like to be careful, slathering on the factor 50 just in case we burn, and setting phone alarms so that we can turn over every half an hour (or is that just me that does that?) The end result of this is that we have no suntan, just red angry skin where we missed the factor 50, and a peeling nose. Where's the tube of St Tropez when you need it?
So yesterday, despite me wanting to soak up some sunshine, the husband and I trekked up to Milton Keynes again, to take two large items of furniture up to daughter number two's new home. Try as we might, we hadn't been able to squeeze these into her car, so a second trip was needed. She had asked us to come up around 2.00 as she'd had a big night out on Saturday, resulting in a Sunday hangover.
As we walked up the stairs with the furniture, she got everything in its place and asked us if we were hungry. Well, this was a new one on me, I can tell you. Had she made us a Sunday roast? Were there sandwiches on offer? A cake, perhaps?
'Well we haven't eaten', said the husband, looking at me with those eyes he uses when roast beef is on offer.
'Good', says daughter number two. 'The pub round the corner does a great Sunday roast. Shall we go?'
By this what she really meant, was, 'I have a hangover. I need a roast dinner. I am poor. You are paying'.
It was a very good roast dinner as it happened. The Yorkshire puddings were better than mine according to the husband. Well bearing in mind that no member of my family likes my Yorkshire puddings, preferring the frozen fluffiness of Aunt Bessie, this wasn't saying much.
We were offered a quick cup of tea at her's then kicked out - she was looking for a post-roast nap (as were we, but we had to drive 57 miles home again).
The sun was still shining as we got home, so it was off with the clothing and out on the deckchair for me for some late rays. The husband, never a fan of the sunshine, fell asleep in the lounge in front of the television, surrounded by schnauzers.
Pommel horse has that effect on him...
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