Just not cricket

6th June 2025

I start with an apology to both my readers: I’m sorry, but if you were hoping that after last week’s action packed high we were entering a period of summer fun and frivolity, you will be sadly disappointed.

The most exciting thing early on in the week was Stephen and the cricket – no, not a modern take on Aesop but maybe you can find a moral somewhere. He had a bit of a disturbed night on Sunday, as I found out in the morning.  Somehow, I’d managed to sleep through the mild kerfuffle of him trying to hunt down a cricket that he was certain was in the bathroom, cricketing away as a cricket will do. Despite a thorough search, the visitor, if there was one, remained elusive. Maybe, we thought, it had been just outside the window, or had found an escape route when rudely disturbed by the light coming on.

Move forward to Tuesday evening. I was settling down after dinner for a spot of TV when Stephen announced triumphantly from the doorway that he’d found the cricket – in the bathroom as previously suspected, nestled in the corner by the WC bowl – and had gently escorted it from the premises. That was one mystery solved, but it did raise another which I’m somewhat loathed to investigate – what had it been living on? Any suggestions regarding that or the moral of this tale can be sent on a postcard to the usual address.

Thursday was a return to old haunts. It had been too long since we graced The McIntosh with our presence so decided we’d have dinner at the pub for the first time since whenever. It was comforting to say that nothing much had changed, just different serving staff (of one) and no more chiller cabinet. The menu might have had a new addition or two, but we were predictable and went for an Angus each (hamburger, bacon, cheese and an egg all in a bun – we did have a lot to catch up on), and then threw caution to the wind and ordered a portion of chips and of onion rings to share.

As usual, the fried food came first and we had more or less made our way through it when the burger arrived… or rather it didn’t. What did arrive was the Angus mark 2, with no bun but a pile of chips instead. We smiled and did our best to plough through them – which Stephen, the fine trencherman that he is, carried off with ease. I, though, admitted defeat and left at least half of mine – much to the surprise (if not shock) of the server who went away shaking his head over such feebleness, then returned a short time later with the leftovers in a burger box for me to take home, still with a look of disdain on his face. They are now in the freezer, biding their time.

Which, bypassing Friday, brings us to the weekend. Amongst the usual bits and pieces yesterday, in the morning I took the leaf blower to the terrazzo and the hard area downstairs, not because we were knee-deep in leaves but achieve that just swept look the easy way, while Stephen spent quality time in the afternoon giving the Renegade a good clean. We might have known, going by that law called Murphy’s, that the combine harvester would turf up later and start mowing the wheat in the field across the way – generating a considerable amount of dust and detritus in the process. And where did it all go? Over the terrazzo and the Renegade (well, ok, maybe not all, but a considerable amount). And what’s more, the swarms of tiny insects disturbed by the harvester and hanging around the lane threw their hands up in bliss and enjoyed a tasty feast (i.e. me) when I wandered down with Harry and Peggy for our walk. Next time you open up a packet of pasta, just remember the human suffering that goes into your spag bol. 

Harry and Peggy enjoying their evening treat of some time with a raw hide chew.

As we were in need of some stocking up (the usuals, gin, tonic, gin, coffee, gin) we thought timing our trip to Conad in Cuore Adriatico for Sunday morning would be a good plan as everyone would be at the beach and it would be quiet. We were partly right. While those under 30 were noticeably absent, those over had obviously had the same idea – either that or they were taking advantage of free air conditioning. Manoeuvring a trolley round the aisles was a bit tricky at times, but we did very well, shopping and paying in about an hour – including spending a disproportionate amount of time weighing up which soya sauce to buy (we don’t have such dilemmas in MSP where there is not so much a choice of brands but a choice of take or leave the one on offer where exotic ingredients are concerned, if indeed they are stocked at all - smoked paprika anyone?)

The big news of the weekend, though, has been the change in the weather. This started a few days ago when we hit that pattern of grey clouds looming mid-afternoon after a hot and sunny morning. They looked threatening but despite distant thunder it didn’t rain until yesterday when it made an attempt with some bumper drops splattering the terrazzo, but really it was a bit pathetic. Today, however, the rain arrived with a vengeance, though also with some consideration. The first heavy downpour was over by walk time, and we even briefly considered taking our merenda outside – but the chairs were wet and everywhere looked a bit windswept (so much, again, for the leaf blower) so we decided against it.

That was a good move as it wasn’t long before it began to rain again, on and off for the rest of the evening. That it rained is a good thing, as everywhere was very dry and hopefully it might break the heat – not that it has made any difference yet. It’s hovering around 30° late into the day but hey, who doesn’t like a spot of humidity when trying to get a good night’s sleep. I know I don’t.