Twelfth Night

After 24 hours of heavy rainfall and blustery winds the weather settled down this afternoon, and by evening the sun was shining again in a clear sky. Just as well, because we were going to see a performance of Twelfth Night in a nearby pub garden, and we wanted dry bottoms and heads. The troupe put on a different Shakespeare play every year, conveniently shortened to an hour and a half, and perform it for seven nights in as many local pubs where they attract big crowds. They're very good amateurs, and are backed by another local group of mummers who dress for the period too, and sing and play authentic music. It was really well attended with all ages present, and such a delightful experience, sitting out of doors on a summer evening listening to the familiar lines and watching the tale unfold. Suddenly the blue sky over us was filled with rooks returning home to their nests. There were hundreds of them, and it took a while for them all to pass over. It was a spine-tingling sight, as timeless as Shakespeare's words, or older of course, much older. When the play was over they passed around the hat, and we all gave generously. But what a pity Olivia changed back into the actress and appeared in front of us, a buxom wench in a very short striped dress, killing the magic. "Why is it that fat people insist on wearing horizontal stripes," whispered Ruth, and indeed I know not. For if they saweth themselves as others see-eth them, forsooth they would not.

Earlier in the day I had an unaccustomed urge to do some cleaning, and in the process must have swept, hoovered, dusted and wiped up several million of those tiny little insects that get everywhere, even inside sealed picture frames. There are two of them inside my computer screen, still now where before they moved. The humid weather has brought them out, and they insist on crawling across my face, on my ears, under my clothes, too tiny to shoo away. The midges were out in the pub garden tonight, and my head is covered in lumps where they bit me. At least they disappear quickly, unlike mosquito bites.

It's 9.45pm now and quite dark. That's the trouble with the summer. It lasts but a moment and then it turns, just as the schools break up. Was it always thus?