Any Old Iron?
Winter is but a distant memory, as summer has well and truly arrived. The log burners have fallen silent, several togs removed from the duvet, even my trusty winter gilet is now in its summer hibernation – “sleep, my precious, until we meet again”. Instead, we have whirring fans on the bedside tables, fly screens on the windows and the sticky fly-papers-of-death hang from the ceiling like long Garibaldi biscuits. My hot-water bottle has been replaced by a fly swat, with which, Ninja-like, I splatter the enemy into the coffee table, kitchen counters or any other surface they have landed on. The paddy field that is our garden in winter has been cooked by the summer sun; the lush verdant grass now golden and when working in the vegetable garden a pickaxe is my preferred tool of choice. After two years of living like hermits we are looking forward to a packed calendar of social events. Our son is getting married this year so we will be zipping back and forth to the UK for the s...