29th May 2012 Tuesday
It’s too hot (24degrees) to walk at midday after our scrambled eggs, toast and dark gold marmalade brunch. So we wander along the estuary and stop at a bench in the shade. The water is a sheet of mirror glass, which parts into ever widening, shimmering ripples when a little boat chugs past.
I could have stayed there forever in the still hot air, letting the peacefulness sink into my skin. But I thought we were hogging the only shady spot with a wonderful view and should give it up to someone else.
So we drive to the garden centre and stock up on bedding plants - pots of pansies and begonias, trailing nasturtiums and red geraniums. And a tray of zinnnias - all clashing candy colours - because they remind me of my mother and my African childhood.
I can't tolerate the heat like I could then so I’m going to wait till it’s cooler to plant them out in the garden. If I can find a place where the cat won’t pee on them or dig them up. At least he’s not being sick any more - which is a kind of miracle.
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