Just when I thought life couldn’t get any more topsy turvy, the weather app on my phone informed me that it would be 26C today and 24C tomorrow.
Those temperatures would be regarded as balmy in the middle of an English summer, whereas it’s verging on winter in Australia.
I got married on May 20, 2000, and I recall being very brrrrr in my skimpy Colette Dinnigan wedding dress, even with a ubiquitous pashmina of the era across my shoulders (let’s not mention the terrible streak of blusher across my face).
Naturally, I have plans to swim in the ocean this weekend, in celebration of the Indian Summer continuing for another month.
I am hopeful the sea will revive me. I’m shattered by another relentless week, not helped by hot flushes waking me at night. At least I think that’s what they are, as it’s been getting pretty chilly after dark, so it seems odd that the doona would be overheating me. And then a surge of anxiety stops me going back to sleep.
I do not want to be having hot flushes or flashes or whatever they are called because I do not want to move closer to menopause. I want my body to maintain its last vestiges of dewy youth. But what I want is not what I will get – the hormonal milestone is inevitable.
Speaking of hoping … I have my fingers crossed that ScoMo will relax restrictions on sitting in parks in his official announcements today. I’d really like to sit in public without fearing a hefty fine.
As for my first virtual whisky tasting last night, it was bulk fun, but you’ll have to wait for the details on it. I’ve run out of time for today. There’s a sunrise for me to go and see.
This is what the sunrise that DD watched yesterday looked like:
Have a good weekend and I’ll catch you on Monday.
Song of the day: Gloria Gaynor “I will survive”
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