Heatwave!

Blazing June really lived up to the name this year. Instead of the usual change at midsummer into a pattern of wet westerlies, the rain has been noticeably absent for over a month, until yesterday morning, when, for a few hours, it varied between drizzle and downpour.

It was fine but still chilly at the end of May, the Lilac and the Ladies Smock a fortnight late. At the start of June, good weather was forecast and there was the usual rubbish reporting of temperatures in the high twenties, as if that were everywhere and not just the home counties. At the end of the first week of June, the warmth had begun to break through and it suddenly seemed as though we'd caught up after the late spring.

I don't remember any rain until the morning of 17 June, when there had already been a little shower when I went to empty the moth trap, and I finished that just in time before another light shower.  I have a snapshot of Xena sprawled on a bit of old wood in the back garden, surrounded by damp soil, taken on 20 June. I think that might have been the morning I found about 2mm of water in a bucket. I found this website quite useful as an aide-memoire, but it only shows humidity, rather than rainfall. Then no rain, it just got hotter and hotter until we had days and days of weather in the mid-twenties, too hot to work in the garden for long. This was cool compared to what the home counties had to endure. The poor cats spent all their time trying to find patches of cool shade to sprawl in, often in the long grass, under the hedge, in a shady spot on the patio, or flopped onto the tiles in the utility room.

On 29 June I was fed up with feeling as though I was melting and declared a beach afternoon. A friend and I went to Broadhaven, where we set up the UV shelter, covered ourselves in factor 50 and had a picnic and a swim as the tide came in over the hot sand. The water felt a bit chilly - reported on the lifeguards' board as 14 degrees. I'd found my pocket kite and took it along, but there was scarcely any wind, so it would not stay up.

Eventually, on Sunday 1 July, there was a yellow weather warning for thunderstorms. I watched the lightning maps for a while as the storm played south of Exeter and then made its way up to Somerset to give a Chard a bit of a show before it fizzled out. Anyone on holiday in Brittany and Normandy would have had to shelter from tremendous thunderstorms, the maps thick with yellow and red dots from lightning strikes! The weather warning here came to nothing. Another one for last Friday was cancelled too. Some showery rain was forecast, and I leaned on my fork in the front garden, sweaty face turned to the sky as the first drops fell ... and then stopped.

It feels as though I've spent weeks with sweat dripping down my back and into my eyes. Yesterday evening, a cool 14 degrees tempted me to put on a jumper. The forecast is still reasonably fine, cloudy with sunny spells and several degrees cooler, with another light shower due later.

There was a time during the winter/early spring, when the ground was completely waterlogged. I remember sploshing my way down the garden, with water pooling on the surface in places. Now, any dampness is locked in the baked clay soil. Worms have tied themselves in knots to aestivate deeper in the soil. Plants without tap roots and which like damp soils, like Primroses and Lady's Smock, have struggled and in some cases died. I'm not sure whether my new, expensive roses will make it, either, despite my best efforts to keep the pots watered. On the other hand, the brambles have loved it, sending up new shoots from their deep roots.

The Big Butterfly Count starts this Friday and schools break up for summer holidays next week. I wonder if decent summer weather will continue, or will the westerlies bring rain? We could do with a downpour to clear the air.

TLC

I've just had a lovely few days when my parents came to visit. They were full of apologies that they hadn't been able to come when I first came out of hospital, but I'm glad of that - they would have been so bored, with me trying to get organised for the Cardigan Belly Dance Festival and sleeping the rest of the time!
As it was, we didn't do all that much, hampered by my inability to walk limp far.  We made it to the leisure centre a couple of times, where Dad went to the gym and Mum and I went swimming.  It was so good to feel released from gravity for a while! The pool was reasonably warm and fairly empty considering that it's still the school summer holidays (though not for very much longer - where did August go?).

We had a little excursion to the Wildlife Centre at Cilgerran for lunch at the Glasshouse Cafe, which was packed but the food is always good. Then on to see my friend Rose at Sculpture Heaven, where we pottered around the garden rooms, admiring the trees and flowers, and browsing in the reorganised shop. Rose serves tea and fabulous little cakes with profits going to charity.  Apparently, there are no calories in cakes on Wednesday afternoons (when the sewing circle my Mum belongs to meets to stitch, chat and have tea and cakes).

My parents did some housework for me, as I haven't been able to do much for a few months now and it was lovely to have their help with mundane things like washing up, looking after the hens, or just making a pot of tea.  A lot of the time, we just read the papers, watched TV and talked about computers (Dad) and patchwork (Mum). The chat generated a new idea for me, which I'm now exploring and costing out (but that's all I'm saying for now!)

They couldn't stay for the bank holiday weekend, but I enjoyed my few days of TLC, comfortable, healing and nurturing. Everyone should have some.

Holiday!

Some people seem to embody elements of nature and my friend J is one of them.  It took me a little while to put my finger on it, but now I am sure.  With her blond hair and smile, she is Sunshine.
J came to belly dance classes and was one of the rare people who don't need to be reminded to smile.  With good posture and presentation and a smile that says you are dancing for the love of it, people will see the smile and miss that you are (for example) temporarily on the wrong foot.  She stopped coming for a while due to a medical problem, which I think reminded her that life is short.  Problem sorted out, she and her husband G retired to Cyprus, where they already had friends and family, settled in ... and offered me the opportunity for my first proper holiday in over 5 years. And 50 years after leaving it, (if you don't count a short refueling stop-over) I returned to the land of my birth.
The promise of a holiday gave me some much needed focus, and after a flurry of knocking jobs off my To Do list, I zoomed off down the M4 to Cardiff Airport and my flight to Paphos.  It was a nice sunny day when I left - 21°C - but even warmer at night when we landed at Paphos, a balmy 27°. The luggage took an age to come through, then I found J outside, both wondering where I was (my phone was still off!) and trying to get hold of G who had gone somewhere with the car.
We went down to a bar in Coral Bay for a drink and to watch some dancers who changed from jumping, high-kicking cowgirls into Samba showgirls, with smiles bigger than their blingy bikinis. So fit, to be dancing so energetically in that heat - no wonder they weren't wearing much!
So began my holiday, tension draining away as I sipped ouzo and lemonade, and laughed and was entertained.

Late afternoon sun

Such an inviting pool!

The following morning, I put on my swimsuit and ventured into the pool.  With the water at 27°, it was warm enough not to trigger my cold-induced urticaria.  A hazy blue sky promising temperatures in the mid 30s by midday. It was luxurious, idyllic and a very pleasant physical shock to be somewhere so bright and warm. My photos look like shots for a holiday brochure. Just looking at them makes me want to go back.

I'd forgotten my unintentional habit of coming down with a cold almost every holiday.  It's as if my body decides I've got time to have a cold once I stop and relax. On the Sunday, I had a head full of cotton wool and eyes which wouldn't stay open. So, feeling feeble, I spent much of the day sleeping and reading by the pool, in the company of next door's cat, who seems to have adopted J and her villa as a preferred home. He often slept in the shade of the chairs and loungers around the pool, or sprawled in the shade of the olive trees and chased the occasional lizard. I missed my own cats terribly, but was warned he had a tendency to reward unsolicited stroking with a meaningful bite, so I left him pretty much to his own devices (but talked to him, of course, in English, Welsh and an odd word of Greek).  More than once, I woke after dozing on a sun lounger to find him snuggled against my legs. Apparently, after I'd left, the cat went around looking for me and then went off in a sulk for a day.
I swam every day, twice on most days.  It was just glorious to glide up and down in the warm water, with dragonflies skimming the pool. I trod water, twirled around, did ballet and belly dance exercises. By the end of the week I could definitely feel the benefits.  I'd forgotten how the rhythm of swimming in a pool helps me to get my thoughts in order.  I vowed I would swim more when I got back to Wales, although unfortunately, both of my closest public swimming pools are a 24 mile round trip, and the times for public swimming aren't really convenient for me.

I managed to get away with not getting very burnt (the spray-on factor 50 worked well) and not getting very bitten.  I did use an insect repellent, but usually I get bitten anyway.  However, J is an even bigger magnet for everything which bites than I am, and it was strange to stand next to someone who attracts the mozzies more than I do!

J and G took me out to do a few touristy things, including trips out to bars at night.  Even at the end of the season, there was still plenty on. We went to see a George Michael tribute act, an open mic night, and I even went to a pub quiz and enjoyed it! The highlight was seeing Ms Debonair at Charlie's Bar in Paphos, a drag act who lipsynched and mimicked some of the artists and their songs and sang some others.  It was all very entertaining and great fun except for the repeated link music between the numerous acts.  That pre-recorded driving beat and spoken build-up introduction quickly became very tedious, but probably acted as a timed cue because there must have been some very quick changing going on behind the scenes. After all the pouting and posing, (Warning, Spoiler Alert!) the finale was the wonderful Charles Aznevour song 'What Makes a Man a Man?', whilst taking off the wig and make up, changing the dress for trousers and transforming back from drag queen to man.

I stayed in a couple of nights, and let J and G do their own thing, as I was finding so much socialising and night life quite overwhelming.  And I really don't like football or anything too loud. One night was a karaoke down in Coral Bay, and from the villa a couple of kilometres away I could hear that the last song was The Green, Green Grass of Home.  Possibly people right at the top of Peyia village and as far as Chlorakas could hear it too.

At home, the grass would indeed be green, unlike the parched late-summer land in Cyprus. Suddenly, my week was over and it was time to go, with last minute souvenirs, a few pictures and a lingering memory of the warm brightness and smell of the sea and dry phrygana scrub.
Big thanks to J and her husband G, who fed me, entertained me, and generally looked after me and provided me with an opportunity to relax completely.

Swimming Solo

Gliding forwards over the buoyant deep
I watch my glistening nails
Pushing towards the horizon,
The small bow wave they made
Breaking over my hands
Softly chill on my skin.
Floating weightless I lie,
Quiet except for my splash
And laughing, spin and dance,
Swirling bubbles in my wake.