Sussex in June

I have a bit of a farmers tan going on, very brown forearms with white shoulders, and my cheeks are tingling from a day in the sun. The intensity of an English June makes 20C seem almost unbearable, although we daren't complain unless it goes away. My garden is bursting forth, frothy roses adorn the pergolas and arches while cosmos of varying pinks hold still on their thin stalks, for there is no breeze. The cats snooze on the warmed paving slabs, enjoying the under-floor heating long past the sun disappearing behind the trees.

I wait all year for this day. A day when we play outside, eat strawberries freshly picked, drink coffee with our faces to the sun and murmur murmurings of how pleasant all this is. The plants grow daily, the lettuces are ripe for picking and the chilli's look like they may have a chance of making it this year. Long June days, the days of Enid Blyton childhood memories, of chocolate ice cream spilled down school dresses, of birds twittering till 10 O'clock and glasses of icy cold white wine.

             
Ah, June days.

Growing long and eating strawberries in the pretty shade