Ah those crazy, hazy lazy days of summer, of wine and roses, the heavy scent of the flower filled border, a chilled bottle of rose, cream tea on the patio, the strains of Satchmo floating through the still air. Panama hat cocked at carefree angle.
The snooze on the hammock whilst listening to Test Match Special, waking up after an hour or so to find that not much has changed. The score has moved on a little. No more wickets. Chocolate cake in the commentary box. Thank you Mrs Abercrombie of Sevenoaks. Our Andy wins Wimbledon, again.
The stroll to the beer garden. Cold cold lager under the parasol. A dog flops its languid tail. The heat abates: barbecue time. Occasional burgers flipped, steaks sizzle, sticky sausages tanned brown, ketchup smeared faces wear satisfied smile, gather around the fire laughing, singing and playing the guitar until the light dies.
Leave the clearing up. Bed beckons but tomorrow never comes…
Summertime, and the living is easy. Get the gist?
#whensitgonnahappen
