Four shows in five days in our forties in the forties!

Good God!

As Noel Coward once wrote.  Only mad dogs and Lola Boys! Well, almost!

Our fiercest gigging week combines with this furnace friggin heat.

Certainly not for the weak!

Were we hot hot hot or what?

It was a scorcher of a semana here on the Iberian Peninsula and we sincerely sizzled folks! Like two old bangers who hadn’t been pricked.

I turned to Andrew during one of our performances and could have sworn I was appearing  in an old Esther Williams movie.

Starring alongside – Andrew Kennedy – Million Dollar Merman!  Only cheaper.

Even I have never quite witnessed Andrew covered in so much secretion – literally blood, sweat and even more sweat!  Quite excreatiating!

He was as wet as a sailor’s slipknot. Or is it an otter’s pocket ? Or a beaver’s beaver ? Anyway – Saturated!

Less ‘The Man From Atlantis’ more ‘The Man From Del Monte’ – Squeezed and wrung dry to the point of taking the pith!

I am very glad that I could not also see myself during this excessively perspirational  turn.    At some particularly, humid moments, I must have resembled Heath Ledger’s Joker in Batman.

Only with less zest!

And this, despite our recent addiction to juicing!

Singing, with the pool to our rears, and drowned in our sodden attire, we could have been mistaken by our audience to be a superannuated synchronised swimming team.

0nly without the speedos!

Oh, and the synchronisation!

But we were in deep and just as damp.

This torrid weather does absolutely nothing for one’s glamour credentials.
Make up seems to develop a life of it’s own and hair just seems intent on suicide.
I have been guilty of a gross follicular felony on more than one occasion during this stuporous spell

Andrew, on the other head, has hair that naturally just,  stays!

It’s most annoying. Whatever the weather, he stills resembles an idol in their fifties, I mean, an idol FROM The Fifties!  Glamorous always.

He’s always been a complete perspiration to me!

I can’t concentrate. This darned heat has made me go all Tenessee Williams – well that, or the mint Julep I’ve just had forced down my neck.

I’m feeling like a tin on a hot cat’s roof.

I do not complain though.

Even during this latest spell it may have been sultry enough to fry eggs, (not just expose them), but it is definitely preferable to anything inclement that mother nature may choose to toss our way.

If not a little persistent.

Much like an old friend who stays just that one day too long …. a trifle stifling…

Yet, with our work done, and no unwelcome house-guests, Andrew and I now have time to chill – literally.

I sit amid my ‘past it’s best’  Agapanthus, rudely late for the afternoon sun and relapse, or rather,  relax.

Breathe in – something I probably shouldn’t ….. and exhale.

Take a sip of something that doesn’t come from the bloody ‘Nutribullet’ – and lay back.

That darned ‘Nutribullet’ shooting off it’s rotor speed again. As if two blogs weren’t enough. Rearing it’s ugly mug and dissecting my cocktail of exotic reverie, not to mention my latest scribblings!.

I realised recently that our ‘bullet’ is fast becoming a bulletin!
‘
All of it’s own!

This little machine is getting a little too big for it’s blades!

O.K. It may extract nutrients you never even knew you lacked, from expensive fruit you’d never ever heard of – but it also takes quite a lot of energy out of  it’s user.

There have been moments, pre 9am, after the second spinach or kale extraction, after several minutes of background noise equivalent to a logging station in northern Canada, or a dodgy ride at Alton Towers, God forbid! During these moments I have been tempted to push the nearest hand, whether it be mine or not, directly into the blending jug of the blasted thing and end it all.

The life of the machine that is….. although….

There’s only one thing for it!

Off with it’s choppers!

Let’s face it – It already has a bullet with it’s name on it.

This little gadget will just have to learn it’s place – for a day or two at least – and that place is a corner at the back of the kitchen cupboard.

Just for a brief respite. To cool off. Let the motor wind down a little.

It’s been working far too hard lately, especially given the searing climate. Some would say there’s a distinct danger of overheating. One should never allow oneself to over-extract. Oscar Wilde possibly?

A little pause is probably in order, not to mention a little ante meridian silence.

Morning hardly breaks in our house, no, not with the aural assault that our healthy metal mickey emanates – it literally shatters.

Some time spent in shady solitude for this little pet. Just a short while until it’s faddy owner’s hankering for vegetable juice revives itself.

And now with those swirling, sweltry days behind us, we too can revive.

A brief sojourn in the sheds for our engines to release some of their accumulated showbiz smog.

A moment to climb down from the cab and take a pause in the waiting room before reboarding those crazy tracks .  A short delay before stepping out onto that heady platform once again.

A fleeting interval to kick back, instead of kick off, and recharge the theatrical batteries.

They’ll need to be at full pelt as we head for gay Paris later in the week.  Ooh la la!

But for now, for once, just, now.

Time to read.

Write.

Wrong….

Still feeling hot hot hot….

Temperature’s rising…

I got ……. pshhhhhhhhhhhhh…… Steam Heat! …..