This morning over the steam wireless at my bedside I heard the alarming weather alert for an extreme heat warning. Not a welcome tidbit of news. Darn. So I had to abandon plans for my all-day hard-working session in the garden. Ha Ha. If you believe that you'll believe anything.

Now it's 4pm and the thermometer in the back porch says 36C. Outside is definitely warmer than that. I picked a plum in the heat of the day and it was a HOT plum, kind of cooked, but very nice; and I rescued some nectarines from the birds, beetles and ants. So much for the Will Horticulture. Gwenda meanwhile boasts of the mulberries she's gathered from a friend's tree. "You have to wear red clothes."

Uncharacteristically, for a weekend, a spate of editing jobs arrived on my computer yesterday and I finished them last night at 11.30pm. But not tonight. Andy Murray is playing Novak Djokovic in the final of the Men's Tennis at the Australian Open. Now, who shall I barrack for...? Scot? Serb? Let's be totally unbiased about this. I know, I'll phone my cousin in Glasgow for an opinion. Can't phone home to mum because her birthday was last week. Would have been 106. But sadly she only made to ... oh dear, the age I am now. Ouch.

So it goes.

More devastating news. This Wednesday will be the the final on ABC of the UK series (second season) Outnumbered, which had become an addiction. Trouble is, the TV family were very like mine. Déjà viewing.