- Beer. It tastes better in the summer (apart from bitter, which is not better, it's worser, unless it's best bitter, in which case it's only slightly worser best bitter). This observation is restricted though to lager-type beers of the sort I don't usually drink. Apart from Carlsberg and Heineken, which remain chemical-laden abominations that should be poured down the drain, not your gullet.
- Mrs Monmarduman. She can be tempted into cycling shorts and on to her bike. Yesterday she cycled further than she ever had before - 27 miles - and apart from slightly stiff wrists (which are in any case a legacy of breaking them both in an alcohol-related incident in the dim-and-distant) suffered no ill effects. We had a lovely ride along a cycle track/bridleway up to Marple and back down the canal towpath. I did, however, get a puncture on the way home, and had to walk a couple of miles. Mrs M suggested that I had, in fact, let my own tyre down as I was struggling to keep up.
- Cricket. My sporting second love. I reached the heady heights of the Cheshire Under-16 team in my playing career, but the truth is it's the only sport which I've happier to watch than play. I became semi-obsessed with the stats and facts that dominate the game as a kid, and I still love it, particularly when England are doing well against the old enemy. No, not Scotland, the Aussies. I also love it when Australians you meet vehemently deny having the slightest interest in the game during summers like this one.
- Trousers. More to the point, the fact you don't need to wear them. This has always been true, but more so since I had cyclists' legs that don't need hiding.
- Daylight at 6am. I loathe getting up in the dark. I also like being able to go running or cycling when the local wildlife (not a euphemism) is just waking up too - a heron was so sleepy this morning when I ran past him he couldn't be bothered to flap away from the canal bank. There were but inches between us.
- Eating outside. It's not just barbeques (though Mrs M's homemade tandoori turkey burgers are to die for) I'll happily take my porridge outside. It just feels so Mediterranean.
- The cat. Becomes nocturnal again, meaning that much of the time there's only two rather than the usual three of us on the bed, meaning in turn I get to sprawl out and sleep better.
- Festivals. You can keep your Glastonbury and your V, the place to be is the Macclesfield Sheep Dog Trials, which take place but a stone's throw from our front gate two weeks from now. Don't be misled by the title, there's a veritable cornucopia of delights - viz. a fell race, corn dolly making demonstrations, a caravan club rally and evening concerts by people you last heard of in the '70s. Little & Large, take a bow.
- Fruit in the garden. Raspberries, strawberries, rhubarb, and this year, blueberries. Sometimes there's enough for nearly half a bowl of fruit salad.
- The Tour de France. It's wonderful. You know why, I go on about often enough on here. As I write, the final stage that starts at Versailles and concludes under a floodlit Champs Elysee is just about to start, which means I must take my leave....
Happy holidays, for those about to pack. I salute you.
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