Whether the weather be hot 

There is something wonderful about being up early before everyone else is out and about, the morning shimmering with the promise of impending heat, the cats stretched out like open accordions on the kitchen floor. I am sitting on the balcony overlooking T’s newly cleared garden listening to the noisy parakeets who are hopping about in the trees at the end of the wall by the fig tree.. Every now and then they fly past in a flash of squawking green, reminding me of India. 

In Tokyo, the first sound I would hear in the morning was the hissing of the sprinklers as the timers came on, vital liquid in the cool of the morning before the heat sucked every drop of moisture out of the day. Japanese grass is spiky and unforgiving, scratchy and scrubby, almost plastic in feel, but British  Embassies take these sort of things very seriously, and clipped immaculate lawns and perfect flowerbeds go with the territory, even if underfoot things are not quite as they seem. 

I have always been an early riser, a habit that is a bit of a mixed blessing . I do envy those who can sleep for hours, snuggling back down under the duvet,  while I am absolutely wide awake and ready to start my day at a ridiculously early hour. If I lived in a country where afternoon siestas were de rigeur that would suit me just fine. When the kids were small,  L ( who could now as a young adult sleep for an entire day) would be up at about 5am and would wake me up by physically opening my eyes shouting” Morning !!!”, an event only made bearable because he was the funniest sweetest toddler known to man and who could possibly mind ? ( well, yes, T for a start  who preferred the ” if I lie very still he will go away” option.)

On Saturday I was out and in the lido at 7.30am, a gloriously cool oasis of calm, the clear chilled sparkling water soothing on my sunburnt shoulders. By the time I left there were queues snaking around the corner. They must rejoice at this hot weather, though I do admit to a sneaking and most unjustified sense of outrage at the hoards of fair weather swimmers who come out of the woodwork thus making the rest of us faithfulls wait for hours to get in. 

This morning I went out to water our allotment before it got too hot and parched. Everything has exploded into a mass of bean and pea shoots, the potato patch is a sea of pink flowers and the sweetcorn is thickening as it ripens. On Friday we stripped the  cherry tree by the main gate and picked a whopping 27kgs of sweet dark red cherries! Whatever the weather was doing it was obviously doing it at the right time as we have never had so much from one tree and unusually the birds seem to have left it alone. The apricot and walnut tree are also  heavily laden with fruit though the squirrels usually end up with the walnuts. 

And then T and I cycled down to Peckham to try and see if there was any kind of gathering for the minute of silence scheduled at 11am to remember all those who have lost their lives to terrorism. Peckham was its usual hustle and bustle but the  mosque was empty apart from a handyman who shrugged and said he didn’t know anything about a minutes silence. We ventured into a church where people were sitting listening to a woman talking. It looked worryingly happy clappy with a selection of guitars and tambourines on the stage so we left . And then we realised we had missed the 11am deadline anyway so we  went for a coffee and discussed elderly parents and all that sail in them. And on my way home I stopped to buy some tomatoes and a large bunch of parsley. The stall holder asked me what I thought about this mornings attack on the mosque in Finsbury Park. I told him that we had intended to keep a minutes silence to remember but we had somehow missed it. “Lets do it now” he said . So me and the muslim stall holder held hands and stood in silence together for a minute. And then he gave me a mango and I cycled home. 

I love living in London.