Dog Days

The dog days of summer. Still lush, still trying to flower but somehow a little tired, slightly droopy. Ready for a long sleep.

This is the time when slips are made, when our tongue's looseness is in inverse proportion to our brain's attention. These are the days when we want to sit back and watch the kids play, or glimpse at the cricket through heavy-lidded eyes. We don't want anything too strenuous, too attention-grabbing - none of that excitable winter sport.

These are the languid hours. Afternoons when we think about a little cider - perhaps to help down a pork pie (and that little bit of salad she insists we eat). Time slips by and we watch it, lolling about in its passing.

One day we'll have to get up, kick off the Summer's laze and get on with the the things that need doing. Soon the football will start again, the kids will be back to school in slight trepidation at the new class and our lives will once more be filled with action and activity.

But tell us about that later. Right now I'm doing nothing.

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