Catterpillar Weather

I think I can state with cautious optimism that summer is here. Apart from the odd day where the temperature dropped, it’s been consistently in the mid-20s, and some days have reached 30 degrees centigrade. Now, I am aware that many who live in the hotter parts of the world will be scoffing that this is nothing compared to how hot it can get where they are. However, the UK summers are different.

We are an island surrounded by water, so this makes the humidity almost unbearable some days. Our homes and workplaces were mostly built a long time ago, when the UK was a much colder place, and they were designed to trap heat. Very useful in the winter. Not so great in a heatwave. And we have no air conditioning. It’s never been needed before, and even now, it’s not an option for most people. I live in an Edwardian house that’s over 110 years old. To install AC would be a costly and difficult process. I only have a small garden and do not want to sacrifice any part of it to the AC units. With the price of electricity, I also would not be able to afford to run it. I’ve had Americans tell me it only costs $100 to buy a window AC unit. Maybe in America it does. In the UK, they tend to be a lot more expensive than that. My house is in a listed area within the town’s historical medieval grid. I am not even allowed to have plastic windows on the front of my house, let alone ugly AC units on the windows.

So, I struggle on with having all the windows open to catch the through breeze and using fans. Downstairs, my house stays relatively cool, but as heat rises, the bedrooms can be unbearable. One night, I was trying to sleep in 31 degrees. Lying in a puddle of sweat, I put the fan on, but it was noisy and rattly and kept me awake. A breeze was blowing through, but it was making the blinds at my windows slap violently at the frames. So that kept me awake as well. I’ve gone weeks now with very little sleep, and I’m exhausted.

What else have I been up to apart from sweating and not sleeping? Well, I did a book fair in Framlingham a couple of weeks ago. I was concerned it might not go so well, given the disaster that was Framlingham fair the week before, and initially, it looked like this book fair would go the same way. Footfall was low, and we struggled to engage with the people who did come in, let alone manage to sell them anything. I had a brief flurry early afternoon though, and a few of the other authors bought copies of my books.

It was a fun event. It’s always nice meeting other authors, and we had a spontaneous open-mic poetry reading session, which was entertaining. In the end, I sold eight books, which was enough to cover my costs and give me a small profit, so at least that’s something.

We finished at four, and by the time I’d packed away and driven home, it was almost five thirty. I quickly unloaded the car, fed the cat, freshened up and got changed. I’d been invited to a friend’s barbecue, and they live a 20-minute walk away. I was dressed in cool linen trousers and a sleeveless top, but it was still very muggy, so by the time I got there, lugging a bottle of wine and one of prosecco, I was hot and sweaty again.

It was the perfect evening. They have a beautiful house and garden, so we all sat on the veranda with drinks and chatted. They have those folding doors across the back of the house, and they were opened fully, so when we sat at the dining room table, it was like eating outside. The night crept in, and the table was lit by candles and strings of twinkly white lights. When I walked back into town with a group of others who live near me, it was still balmy. These are the kind of evenings that we Brits long for and reminisce about. Sadly, they don’t happen that often.

Last Sunday, I had another live event, this time in the small town of Sudbury, which is about a thirty-minute drive away. I’ve only been to Sudbury once before, a very long time ago, so I couldn’t remember what it’s like. The venue was the Arts Centre, and it was gorgeous. A medieval church now repurposed into a community arts centre, it was cool and airy and clean. Despite the ancient walls, painted vaulted ceilings and other architectural features, inside all was light and modern. It truly is a lovely space, and it’s great to see old buildings being given a new lease of life.

Again, it wasn’t a particularly busy day, but it was fun, and I appeared on a panel about creating worlds in fantasy fiction, which was interesting. There were author readings as well. In the end, I sold ten books, and, because of the very low pitch fee, that gave me a higher profit margin than the Indie Book Fair in Huntingdon in May, where I sold 26 books. Then the pitch fee was an eye-watering £75, and footfall was less than expected. Footfall seems to be down at all the events I do. A reflection on the ever-tightening cost of living, I think.

Have I been writing? A little. Not as much as I’d like or I should. I will admit that I’m struggling to find the motivation to write. It all seems a bit pointless, to be honest. With the world teetering on the brink of World War three, what is the point in publishing another book when there might be no one around to read it?

I think I’m close to finishing though. It feels like I’m running out of plot, so I know the end is in sight. Will it be ready by NorCon at the end of September? Maybe. I have brainstormed with my cover designer, and we’ve come up with ideas, so at least that’s done. Now, I just have to write the darn thing.

It’s my birthday soon, and I’m trying to arrange my usual lunch shenanigans with my girlfriends. Last year, we went to a restaurant in town called Cotes. We sat in the garden, had the three-course set meal each, drank lots, chatted, and just generally had an amazing time. Lunch lasted from one until five, and then we sat in my garden and drank prosecco until the sun went down. It was such a wonderful time that I wanted to repeat it. But since last year, I have developed this bloody rapeseed oil allergy, so I figured I’d better talk to the restaurant now instead of leaving it until the day and then discovering there’s nothing on the menu I can eat.

I went to Cotes this afternoon and spoke to them about it. Everything on the menu is full of rapeseed oil, and they weren’t prepared to cook anything separately for me, even though we would be a party of six, all eating and drinking a lot.

I walked out of Cotes and walked into Damson & Wilde a little further down the street. What a difference. The manager came over to talk to me. She went through the menu. Yes. Several things I can eat including steaks and grilled fish. I can’t have the chips, but they can do me new potatoes in butter and herbs, which will be lovely. She couldn’t have been more accommodating or understanding. She also told me one of their regulars has a soya and rapeseed oil allergy and they always manage to cater for her, so they’re used to it. I was beginning to think I was the only person in the world allergic to rapeseed oil. It’s a shame that everywhere is using it because it is not fit for human consumption. It was created to lubricate industrial machinery, not to be eaten. It makes me wonder if now it is in everything, whether more people will become allergic to it.

Let me tell you a funny thing that happened yesterday. I had to work a day’s overtime, so I dashed home at lunchtime, desperate for a cup of coffee. I’ve only recently found an instant coffee that I don’t hate, so when I don’t have enough time to make proper coffee, I have a cup of that. It comes in a squat glass jar with a grey plastic lid. Anyway, I charged in and put the kettle on, grabbed the coffee and dumped a spoonful in a cup. Whilst the kettle boiled, I washed an apple for lunch, then poured the boiling water into the cup. I stirred it and dropped in some milk. Sitting down with the cup and a book, I gave it a few minutes to cool down before gulping a mouthful … and almost spitting it right back out. It was disgusting!! Unsure what had happened, I took the cup into the kitchen and examined the contents. It didn’t look right. I opened the cupboard door and realised what had happened. I must have put the jar of coffee back in a different place last time and grabbed a different squat glass jar with a grey lid. Yep. I’d made myself a lovely cup of lamb gravy. The meat gravy granules being in almost the same type of jar, combined with the tearing hurry I was in, meant I hadn’t looked at it properly. Yuck.

Talking of food, I’ve recently discovered a brand of pizza that I can eat. Every single pizza, it seems, is made with rapeseed oil, so I’d resigned myself to never having pizza again. It’s not my favourite thing, but it is nice to occasionally have one. Anyway, I found a lovely brand of pizza called Crosta and Mollica. It’s Italian, so it uses olive oil, and the other ingredients are simple and healthy. They do three or four different sorts, plus a sourdough pizza base with a scraping of passata that I can then add whatever toppings I want to.

A friend came round for dinner last weekend, which we were able to have in the garden, and I made us a pizza using one of the bases. I cut it in half because she has a dairy allergy, so she brought her safe cheese to use on her half. I also caramelised onions in balsamic vinegar and made tiny meatballs by removing the skins off a couple of Cumberland sausages and frying them in olive oil and fresh herbs. We added extra herbs to the pizza and had it with chilli herby fries and salad, and it was delicious.

We drank a lot and sat outside until it grew dark. Another perfect evening.

I am hoping for a lovely summer so I can enjoy my garden to the fullest. It has cost me a lot of money over the years, so it will be nice to get something back from it. The plants are beginning to bloom. The jasmine is covered with small, white flowers that smell divine, like warm cinnamon. The neighbour’s honeysuckle is in bloom all over my pergola. My hydrangeas are blooming, as are the foxgloves, and the buddleia is massive and covered in buds.

When my friend was here for pizza last weekend, we were looking at the plants in the garden and discovered that the Solomon’s Seal was covered with icky-looking looking fat, grey-blue caterpillars. I took photos and sent them to Franki, asking if she knew what they were and if they were friend or foe. She phoned me the next day to reassure me that they were the young of the Saw Fly. That they were harmless — well, except to my poor Solomon’s Seal —and that they were very good pollinators, so were an insect to encourage. Since then, they had reduced that poor plant to lace curtains. Luckily, the plant had already flowered and was dying back, so it’s not as drastic as if they’d attacked one of my plants, only now coming into bloom.

I know I keep saying it, but I cannot believe how fast this year is passing. And I’m not alone, everyone I speak to, regardless of their age, feels the same way, like the days and minutes are slipping through our fingers like water. I don’t think it’s because of my age that I feel like this; it seems like a universal feeling that time is speeding up. Who knows, maybe it is. Maybe there’s some bizarre physical phenomenon at play. It’s a weird and wonderful universe in which anything is possible.

I go to work on Monday morning, I do my usual two shifts, then it’s the start of my five days off. I blink. It’s Monday morning again, and time for work again. I have no clear memory of the days off or what I’ve done on them. I am tired all the time now. I think it’s a combination of not sleeping, the menopause, and my thyroid condition. It’s an unholy trinity that leaves me worn out and exhausted.

And now it’s Saturday, and I only have one more day before I return to work. I should be writing, and I have tried, but tiredness has turned my brain to porridge and I’m struggling to wring words from it. So, I will finish up here and schedule the blog to be published tomorrow. Then I will get up and clean the kitchen. Perhaps moving around and some physical work will wake me up, lord knows, I need something to.

Take care of yourselves.

Julia Blake