June is moving along quite briskly. Too briskly, perhaps. It is nearly the longest day of the year, which is always something of a mixed blessing: it is good to see the arrival of summer, but you tend to feel a twinge of regret that we will soon be hurtling out of control towards winter, and months of perpetual darkness and numbing cold and Christmas shopping. And I haven't even been on my summer holiday yet.
The twinges of regret are particularly acute when the weather is a bit iffy: the long summer evenings are not so much fun when there is torrential rain bucketing down upon you. I managed to mow the lawn this weekend, in between showers. This was the first time for the new lawn. It must have come as something of a shock. It had been lying there quietly for the last few weeks, minding its own business, becoming accustomed to its new home, when suddenly it gets attacked by a strimmer, and is – literally – mown down in its prime. I know I would feel aggrieved by this act of vandalism, rather like when you were dragged screaming to the barbers as a small child. Fortunately, I can now go along to the barbers with barely a whimper.
Talking of acts of vandalism, I made some fudge this weekend, as something to do. It's not bad. Fudge-flavoured. A bit on the squishy side. I suppose one gets better at it the more one practices, although it may take a while for me to consume this first batch. Perhaps I could give it away to friends. Or passing strangers, for that matter.
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