Monday 9th July

What a transformation.  London when the sun shines comes alive.  What was drab is now bright and clear, all that grey concrete becomes white and almost shines out its whiteness, the gold on the top of the few famous buildings glistens, but mostly it is on the faces of the people.  That simplest of all pleasures, to feel the sun on your face is so wonderful.  And the last couple of years it has been so rare, too much rain, too many overcast drab skies, too cold – and then suddenly we had the most glorious long weekend of summer.

It brought back memories of the seventies for me, where despite all the political turmoil, three day weeks and oil crises, it is the long lazy days in the sun I remember mostly.  And this weekend we had it all again.  Families quickly organized barbecues, bottles of wine hastily chilled down in the fridge, friends popping round unexpectedly.

And to top it all, in all that sunshine we watched the unbelievable – Andy Murray actually winning Wimbledon.  I was torn between the agony of watching him lose break point on break point, and our friends gathered around the barbie.   At any excuse, making the tea, getting bread for the ducks, clean plates – I escaped back into the house and unbelievably the sets toppled away.

Andy won out in the end and I saw most of the third scary set.  I am still of the opinion that had Novak broken back and saved that set it would have been all up for our un-charismatic winner.

But just like the sun, Andy was shining and somehow held it all together and won.  The perfect end to a lovely summer’s day.