Summer is here with bells on…
As another heatwave hits, I find myself looking back through my observations to find ones that speak of summer:
A painting of an egg decorates the grey pavement, as if fried on the spot in the recent heat.
Man arriving at a gym: You look hot!
Woman leaving (smiling): Thanks.
Man: No, I mean you actually look hot.
Woman: Oh. I've been to a dance class. In a heatwave.
Though Tottenham's summer, the kosher ice-cream van drives its frozen wares, local children lifting their faces towards the sound.
A little boy on the tube having drunk all the so-far-melted water in his bottle of ice-water tries to melt the remaining ice, with his mind.
Man in a queue at the post office: I just want to get chips and ice-cream and look at the sea.
My cat sleeps in the sun - the heat making her fur almost too hot to touch - she is in heaven.
Little boy in Mile End: Mum?
His mum: Yes?
Little boy: I am a sun cream.
I sit in my kitchen, light pouring in as if to set the tablecloth on fire – its pattern of red sailboats against a blue sea offering another story. Machines hum: fridge and freezer trying hard to do their one job. My grey ceramic cat stares out at the side-return, its yellow-glazed eyes shining. I try and concentrate on work, but this tiny project calls me: gathering some observations of summer onto a blank page, currently filled with sun.