Britain is sweltering in a heatwave. If I was still living in Jersey I would have driven to either St Ouens Bay or St Brelades Bay (other beaches are available) and spent a few hours in the sun, but I now live in Poole and the beaches whilst soft and golden are thronged. So it’s an afternoon spent on the balcony of my apartment which faces south west, punctuated by numerous visits into the living room where the blinds are down and I can sit on the sofa fanning myself with a sheet of paper moaning that “it’s too hot.” I don’t know why I can lay in the sun for hours abroad and yet never manage more than thirty minutes when I am at home.
On a hot day I don’t really want to eat. If I lived near the equator I would be as thin as a rake. I didn’t even want an ice cream, although if I had been in Jersey I would have undoubtedly forced myself to have a Jersey soft whip ice cream which in my humble opinion is the best in the world. Made with milk from Jersey cows it is incredibly creamy. There are ice cream vans parked all around the island over the spring and the summer and if you are in Jersey I recommend trying one. My personal favourite ice cream from the van used to be a screwball which was a tub of ice cream with either smarties or jelly beans in the bottom and then chocolate or strawberry sauce drizzled on top.
It’s making my mouth water just thinking about it. Maybe I could force myself to eat something after all.