It's hot. Very hot. Although, not according the mercury. No, the thermometer (well, the internet) would have you believe it's only hovering around the 30' mark. This would not explain why I'm roasting in my own skin, so clearly there's been a terrible malfunction somewhere.
To be fair, it's actually quite pleasant in my bedroom downstairs. It's just the rest of the house that feels like hell. It would be perfect cricket watching weather except I have actually melted onto the leather of the couch, which makes getting up for a drink a very sticky process.
The dog keeps going outside and dunking his head in the swimming pool so there are odd puddles of water on the floor. And the arm of the couch. And he's somehow managed to get the juice from an apple on my laptop screen. At least, it must have been him - I'm not taking responsibility for it.
Mr Bond often seems to have a genuine interest in sport. Not at the moment, of course. At the moment he's curled up on the couch looking thankful that the air-con has been turned on.
But generally, something about little men on television entrances him. Not much else does, really. Some racing pigs on Sunrise once amused him. And the labrador puppy in one of the old Pedigree (I think?) ads managed to hold his attention for a few seconds. Sport though, can entertain him for whole minutes on end. Cricket a little moreso than rugby - I think he likes the contrast of the whites of test cricket.
He and I had a trip out to the airport this morning to drop my Mum off. On this particular route, I like to call him my SatNav puppy. SatNav puppy came about a year ago when, on my first trip to the airport as a driver, at 5 o'clock in the morning, we managed to get horrifically lost and ended up pulling over at the dog beach to Google Map where on earth we were. Clearly, he was the only one in charge of directions. And he has remained the designated navigational device ever since.