It's funny how much less television we watch in summer. As I write this I have just staggered from the kitchen terrace, one more bottle of rosé having hit the dust, all my good resolve about eating and drinking less out of the window and looking at the world through rosé coloured glasses.
Ben and Paula left for home this afternoon, which leaves Rebecca, Trevor and the little ones to feed and water. That's what we've just been doing. Feeding and watering. Well, after a lot of watering and just a bit of feeding I find myself talking to you my dear reader. Well actually talking to myself cos I haven't a clue whether you're reading or not. Strange that.
Back to the original thought, less television. In summer we have lots more visitors, hundreds of the bastards (now, now - Ed) and dinners tend to take place in the cool of the evening outside on the kitchen terrace. Compare that to winter when we shut the blinds and light the fire at around five and hunker down for a night in front of the box. Summer is so different. Out is cooler than in. We care less about television and enjoy food outside, until late, and my beloved keeps insisting that I open another bottle of rosé. As I slow down, others take on that duty.
So now it's after eleven, I'm well fed and even weller roséd, and all dressed up and nowhere to go. (I think you'd better get to bed - Ed) It's good here. Bloody good.
No comments:
Post a Comment