Regular members of the congregation will know that I live in a bit of a rural idyll - a thatched cottage in a sleepy little dead-end road village on the banks of the Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo River.
Thatched cottages are great in the hot weather, as long as you know how to drive them. The thatch keeps it cool in the hot sunshine, but open the doors and windows on a hot day at your peril as then all the hot air comes pouring in and is then retained beneath the wonderful insulating blanket of the thatch, ensuring an uncomfortable night unless you vent upstairs by opening all the windows - and that can lead to unexpected visitors.
The undercut of the thatch is home to gargantuan spiders, daddy-long-legs and the biggest fattest nastiest mosquitoes known to man. And they all want to make a meal of you as you sleep.
Well, I left home in a bit of a hurry this morning for a day in Cambridge and foolishly left quite a few windows open. It was a scorcher of a day and I returned to a sweltering house.
There was no way I was going to sweat it out at home so I nipped upstairs and changed into some kit that hadn't seen the light of day for quite a few years; my running kit.
I made it round my local track - the 'Hemingford Round' only pausing for a few minutes to watch a Kingfisher flashing from his perch above the river, darting in the evening sunlight. I wasn't the mean, lean, running machine of twenty years ago - but I made it. There was hardly a breath of air, so jogging along actually felt cooler than standing still. The old Walsh PB's fell running shoes weren't ideal so I may try my old Mudrocs in a few days time.
By the time I arrived back at the cottage, it was still just as hot and humid, so I sat in the garden sipping a well earned pint of Olde English cider.