Silence.

The New York Review of Books is delivered. Its the August 19-September 29th edition. September ! When the 'ber' months arrive you know the year is no longer sauntering along but is suddenly charging ahead. It can only be a matter of weeks now before the first e-mail arrives from a hotel in Florida offering Christmas vacation packages. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea of 'the fonts' to place the order for the new stove before the factory closed for the August holidays.

The bee man arrived and promptly departed. Something to do with it being far too hot to be working in his protective gear. He has promised to return bright and early today while it's still cool. Shortly after our apiarist departed three men in dungarees arrived to replace the gutters. They took one look at the hoarde of swarming bees and left. They haven't given a date for their next visit. " We're booked solid ". Sigh.

The sunlight streaming into the hallway windows lit up a Murano vase that we'd bought in Rome. One of the few breakable things to survive the housejacking. Something about the angle and intensity of yesterdays sun brought it to life. It glowed as if charged with an inner fire.

'The font' and assorted gannets headed off to London yesterday. A reminder call to the junior gannet , ahead of their arrival, to make sure that the flat in London is tidy and presentable. Some chance. Wilf and I shared a pizza, cracked open a few beers, unlocked the wine cellar, rug surfed, watched a programme called 'The worlds fastest police chases' on television ( mental note :- never, ever go on an Interstate in Alabama after dark, it's crazy down there ),rug surfed some more and then fell deep asleep in an eerily silent house.