British summer. In most situations those two words paired together form one of the most ridiculous oxymorons of the western world. The isles of Britannia don’t do summer. They do prolonged periods of seasonal disappointment interspersed at rare and fleeting intervals with what can only be described as a acts of meteorological cock-teasing. A summer in Britain is about rain, moaning about the rain and clomping through fields in big green wellies. By traditional standards it is not about temperatures that make the deserts of North Africa look positively chill by comparison. Last Monday, as the heat wave crested into its second week temperatures hit 33.5°C. Sun has come to Britain. The first heat wave since 2006. The hottest I remember it being in perhaps a decade. A summer that could even give the Summer of ’76 a run for its money.
I am melting…
Turns out that this month’s image was quite fitting, perhaps even perversely so. Because it is of a desert. And deserts are hot. Does my wit know no bounds? This month’s wordascope proved to be a bit of a mare for me. I was distracted by other things that needed to be written. It once again got put on the back-burner and forgotten about. Well until last night really where everything descended into a frantic haze of panicked writing in a last-dash effort to get it finished in time. Something which was not helped by spending nearly an hour researching the different names for types of ship rigging. I wasn’t really sure what to make of the picture. I had ideas, but none of the fully formed. I have something which abruptly changes tone half-way through. Nor do I think I fully realised some of the more fancy and slightly philosophical wordy bits near the end. But that’s about par for the course really.
The Rogue Verbumancer – It’s been that sort of week
James Clayton – Infinite Aurous Ocean
Ali George – Don’t spend your life wishing
Remember to pop back tomorrow for the start of August’s Pictonaut Challenge.
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