It's been a scorcher this past week; up to 90 most days, and as I sit here at 7pm the sky still has that hazy baking look to it. Frankly, I love it. I feel like I'm in Manhattan in August (even though it's only July!) and everyone's white pasty legs are out in full force. I'm even wearing shorts at the moment (long trouser ones, of course).
It's the end of a full-on 'British' week as well, with Glastonbury having taken over last weekend and Wimbledon going wrapping up this weekend. Most of the English people I know are beside themselves, flipping between BBC channels to watch recorded sets of Blur reuniting and Andy Murray taking on the world. Tennis fans are sweltering under the blazing sun on center court, while the festival-goers were treated to the usual mudfest.
Obviously I only had eyes for Bruce as he rocked for 2 hours at Glastonbury and was absolutely amazing. I had to explain to the housemates why he was so great (they looked at me like I was odd when I said his songs were anthems capturing the raw power of teenagehood, meant for playing while driving cars fast), and secretly clapped my hands with glee when he ran into the crowd.
Even though the week has been 150% British, it will end with a literal bang on Saturday, 4th of July, with a kickball game hosted by American friends and fireworks in Battersea Park. I'm highly looking forward to showing my fair English friends how we Yanks handle the sun and kick a ball.
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