Mad dogs...

...may well go out in the midday sun but they're not doing a lot. We let everyone off in the field this morning and it was embarrassing. No-one ran, no-one jogged, even the peeing on the hay was pretty subdued. You can usually rely on Arthur for a furious poopy dance but I think the 80 degree heat had already curbed his enthusiasm.

The weather these past days has reminded me of our Leicester Ring trip a couple of years back, particularly the four days spent going from Market Harborough to Willington. I thought it was quite possible that I was about to test the bounds of modern science by melting. I can remember the Sunday afternoon especially because as we moved through those wide locks to Kilby Bridge, it got hotter and hotter and hotter and there wasn't a single breath of wind. I was sure all my organs were going to deliquesce and, apart from the obvious benefit of losing a few pounds, I didn't think that would be a particularly good thing. Somehow I survived (the grey roof on the boat helped keep the interior cooler, I think) and at the end of the trip I was sporting one of those tans that prompts the 'where have you been - the Caribbean? No, Leicester' type of exchange. The leper-like peeling one week later was less attractive, of course...