Breezy day, high cloud cover, unbearably muggy indoors, unbearably hot in the sun, but very pleasant out on the bicycle. Still, the non-heat has heat's usual effects: uncertainty in the gut, odd aches, fuzzy-mindedness. All changes once I find myself in coolness; like Pratchett's trolls, I can think again. More, I find myself turning back into me.

So, what happened last month? To answer that requires me to consult my daybook. July is always a write-off that refuses to stay in the memory unless it throws a cold spell, which this year it certainly didn't. There were several mild dry silvery days, not unlike today, on one of which I had my ducts cleaned. There was a Sunday of civil European rain. There was an utterly splendid sunny Wednesday where everyone said 'Oh, if only it would be like this all the time!' but which left no other memory. It thundered frequently the last week, and threatened to do so a lot of the rest of the time. I read a bunch of Christies, a couple of Pratchetts, and two Zen Chos. There were a number of post-work achey drunken evenings at Thai Basil, which makes very good cocktails that require pricey food to cushion them, and many more sedate lunches at Next Generation Sushi, which only serves wine (and beer and sake, but no hard liquor, which is a pity. You want drinks in this town, the accompanying food will be either fried or prohibitively expensive, and occasionally both.)

And that was July and now it's gone.