That was headline news in this morning’s paper and I have half a mind to just go back upstairs to bed. That’s where Paul is (he’s no fool), snug as a bug in the only air-conditioned room, while I sit perspiring in what is meant to be my comfortable ‘morning room’. You know, where I write my letters and plan the menus of my lavish dinners. But seriously folks, I can actually feel the heat emanating from this tiny laptop, which is a good reason (if one was needed) to keep this brief. I don’t have much to say anyway. No news to report; no words of wisdom to impart. It’s hot, and one would do well to keep cool. There. And how are you today?

...the sounds of voices low and melodious can be heard. The clinking of glasses too is as frequent as the laughter that fills the night air. In this garden bordered in lush pine and ancient redwoods, friends gather to toast the good fortune that is undoubtedly theirs. The group is divided quite tidily into couples, and the talk is mainly of love. By day this garden is the playground to countless squirrels and tuneful birds and little buzzing things in search of the cooling shade. But by night this garden transforms itself into the most intimate, convivial and rather select cafe.

God, but it’s hot. And there’s that sun again lasering through the windows. What’s the time? Not even half past six and already this house is stifling. No better outside. Just look at the trees as still as statues, with no wind to ruffle their leaves. I suppose I should be thankful after all those frigid spring days and nights when I practically lived with a hot water bottle pressed to my chest. Ah well, summer. Yes. At least it will be cooler downstairs. What I should do is get right up and get a pot of coffee going and get to work on that room across the hall. Yes sir, up and at ‘em. Not that it needs much now to be honest, maybe a few pictures and one or two bibelots. No, it’s the garden that wants all my attention. But if you think I intend to spend this scorching day humped over herbaceous borders you’ve got another think coming. That coffee is a good idea. Strong and flavourful and piping hot. I know there are scores of well-intentioned souls who cling to the belief that on hot days only iced drinks are called for and perhaps for them it’s the very thing they need. I am not one of those people, at least not until after lunch. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my iced drinks, believe me I do, but not first thing. Look at Paul sleeping. Soundly and deeply. No doubt the effect of all those refreshing iced drinks we sorely needed yesterday. He’ll go on like that for hours more and me here up at the scrape of dawn, wide-eyed and in my own languid way, bursting with energy. How Paul can sleep in this heat I’ve no idea.