We had a couple of dead hot days in Blackpool last week. The beach was baked and ice creams melted before they could be licked. The majority of the beach is flat sand with tidal waters which, during low tide, leaves an enormous expanse to play on. At the southern end of Blackpool the flat sand gives way to high rolling dunes and sun traps. The views of the town from here are lovely and if you’re really lucky you can touch the wheels of the jets as they lift into the air after taking off from Blackpool International Airport (they went international last year with a surprisingly eclectic selection of destinations).
The weather returned to 'normal' after the mini hot spell and I knuckled down to painting the rear of our house. The Devon cream paint (to match our neighbours recently done rear) looked good enough to dribble on strawberries. Speaking of neighbours, the fella next door is a prison warden and is very good looking in that “I don’t have a clue how attractive I am to gay men” kind of way. During the two hot days last week he was stripped to a pair of speedo’s and was lying in an inflatable paddling pool in his back yard attempting to keep cool. I don’t think he noticed me behind the back-bedroom curtains.