Cavorting with Corvids
It's dreadfully hot, here in London (which means, not nearly as hot as in Spain, Egypt or any other hot place you can name). Very few houses here have air conditioning, because our weather is so variable that it's simply not worth the investment. So we swelter away, moaning. British people do love to moan about the weather and the TV's awash with dire warnings about the 'dangers' of the heat. In all honesty it depends how you earn your living, if you're fortunate enough to be able to do that at all. Living on the first floor as I do, very near to the outskirts of London's ancient Epping Forest, it's a pleasure to write or edit in a cool flat with all the windows open. The raucous croaks of the rooks in the nearby trees are a great backdrop for anyone writing historical fiction. Still when I'm not cavorting with corvids or editing my work in progress, I'm finding it an absolute pleasure to get out and shop, walk or write in post-pandemic c...