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It was too hot for a bit. Time went all gloopy. In years gone by, when weather was more normal, people would whinge “it’s too hot”, but this was different.
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Last week, I accidentally left the freezer door ajar, took a while to twig why the floor tiles were cold, took the opportunity to defrost the whole thing, became interested in the temperature inside it and the fridge in the hot weather, and got a little Bluetooth thermometer I’d been curious about since seeing a tweet months ago … cool story.
Cleaned around the doors and stuff, because you want a tight seal to stop heat getting in and making the milk go off/the refrigerator work harder. Some internet sources recommend smearing Vaseline on the gaskets to soften the rubber, but others say you absolutely shouldn’t, it’s as polarised as whether WD-40 belongs anywhere near a bicycle chain.
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Finally, after last year’s dry cleaning fiasco, got some new curtains (Next). Not as bad as “cheap and nasty polyester monstrosities” – they’re exactly as offensively dull as the old ones, don’t want to rock the boat or ruffle any feathers, but nicer being made from more natural fibres and a more appropriate width.
They’re lined blackout curtains, in case that matters. Years ago, after hearing Merlin Mann going on about it on a podcast (?), I took an interest in eliminating light pollution from the bedroom, in search of a better night’s sleep, because our troglodyte ancestors didn’t have artificial light. I think Gwyneth Paltrow’s taken up the cause these days. But what a load of rubbish … isn’t moonlight natural?
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🎦 A View To A Kill. Walken, Jones, a dirigible … but not as good as all that.
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Prima Facie (Jodie Comer’s West End debut). I’d never been to a National Theatre Live screening before. Oh the theatre, the smug audience in London laughing at bits, but it was powerful and important enough for me to quickly forget any childish annoyance at that sort of thing.
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The absolute worst: realised I’d mislaid a jumper I was fond of, who knows when or where I last had it (a regular selfie-taker would be able to know this sort of thing) (obv it’s been too warm to need a jumper recently) (I’ve daggier jumpers I wouldn’t mind losing, but being worn less often they’re less likely to be lost), woe unto me.
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To Chelmsford, which Chuck Dickens called the dullest and most stupid place on earth, because the branch of Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen hadn’t opened yet when he visited. There I had a thrifty-boy seat-filler’s ticket to see Jools Holland (and his rhythm and blues orchestra, and Beverley Knight) in a parched park. I wondered why so many in the queue seemed to be carrying bags of golf clubs, but no, they were folding chairs, of which I’d never seen so many, the sort people sit in to picnic in laybys beside their campervans.