It’s when the temperature gets into the high 30s that I start to wonder why I ever wanted to live in Spain. (I mean, I don’t wonder that, but once it gets over 35, I go from, “This is why I wanted to live here,” to, “This is just way too hot.”)
Ian spent a couple of hours here this afternoon, starting the process of de-greening the pool. It’s looking a bit more turquoise now, and a lot less murky duck pond, so I can actually see myself using it fairly soon. Apparently there was a load of sticky gunk in the bottom (and still is some) that I think came from the olives. Having a swimming pool in the middle of an olive grove may not be the best idea ever …
Jimmy and Rufus came home this morning, and haven’t shown any signs of trying to escape yet, but I think it’s been too hot for them to do anything. I’m sat at the table by the pond (which I’ve discovered is the coolest spot in the garden, although the wind is hot today rather than cooling), Rufus is flaked next to me, and Jimmy is on the floor in the conservatory. That’s not as stupid as it sounds. The conservatory’s tiled roof keeps the sun out during the day, so it’s often the coolest place in the garden.
I’m a bit nervous about what will happen when it starts to cool down this evening, but the fences are well cemented down.