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The natural microwave

It is a staple aspect of the British condition that we will always complain about the weather, even when it is doing exactly what we have previously wished for. The same people who were griping about the cold and the rain earlier on in the year spent this past weekend bemoaning the searing heat.

In my own flat on Cardozo Road, however, we are opportunists. For me, a wedding on Saturday was a perfect chance to break out my linen suit, while my housemate perceived ideal conditions for defrosting his supper in the yard. Various instincts howl warning against the sight of a coffee cup of raw chicken sitting in the sun all afternoon, but he is still apparently alive and unharmed, so perhaps we have all just been brought up a bit over-cautious.

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