Not In Newport!
Apparently, we’re in the middle of a heatwave, not that you’d have noticed here in Newport, where the sun is about as reliable as a politician’s promise (a bit like a Pembrokeshire promise but at least they do turn up…..eventually).
The closest I’m likely to get to a tan is standing too close to Perry’s new Kamado barbecue when he’s grilling gambas. Although, thanks to autocorrect, it now looks like he’s grilling ambassadors — which, given the amount of smoke and spin coming from his patio, seems oddly appropriate. I can imagine the grin on his face whilst he’s basting a diplomat.
The Starling Truth, It’s Grey!
I woke up at 6.15am this morning envisaging wall to wall sunshine. I flung open the curtains with all the enthusiasm of someone expecting a Mediterranean sunrise… only to be met with another delightful wall of grey cloud. It’s like living inside a damp Tupperware box.
Meanwhile, the Met Office is issuing amber warnings and telling us to stay hydrated – as if we’re all out here sweltering on a beach in Marbella. I’m in Newport, love. I’ve got a cardigan on and Misty is standing by the catflap muttering expletives under her breath and refusing to go out until the sun shines .
Let’s All Panic Buy!
By lunchtime, all the supermarkets had sold out of BBQ charcoal, and someone had nicked all the Cornettos as if we were bracing ourselves for Saharan conditions or aramageddon. I admire the optimism, but unless that big orange ball in the sky makes an actual appearance for longer than a few hours, I’m reserving the right to whinge, swear, and hit the gin.
Heatwave my arse? Pull the other one!
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