Strategies for surviving the heat.

1. Frozen bottles of water in freezer
2. Cool water in fridge
3. Dripping water on seedlings and herbs (and feet)
4. Bath water
5. Shower water
6. Wet washer
7. Ice pack

Strategies for becoming irritable in the heat

1. Hearing from the in-laws that it is only 15 degrees in Invercargill. Although they did invite us to jump on a plane and fly on over. *

*starts counting coins in the bottom of the handbag*

Nasty crisp burned stuff on the bottom of the oven

That's a metaphor, innit. Our house, with it's thick walls and insulation, has taken many days of hot hot hot to heat up. The house has been a blessed oasis of cool surrounded by the shimmering heat haze and too blue skies of the plains of summer. The house has been shade and cool drinks. The house has been our safe place, our retreat, our relief.

The house has heated up.

It's going to be above 35 degrees for the next week, except for an exceptionally chilly 31 on Sunday. I don't think our thick walled, well insulated house will be cooling down any time soon. Tomorrow I am purchasing some Rid, because the mosquitoes outside are something fierce, and I refuse to stay inside after dusk after today.

I was really, really afraid of the cold here in Canberra. Ha, I say, and again, Ha. I laugh disparagingly at the cold from the inside of my fluffy coat and beanie. I disdain the cold. Or at least I would, if I wasn't trying as politely as possible to invite it back as soon as it finds it convenient to visit.

I am worried about my very old Grandpa in Melbourne's hot hot hot and hoping he shifts a camp bed into the air-conditioned living room. I wish we could all fly to Scandinavia for a few days.

It is the heat

The heat is wilting my basil, my parsley, my chilli bush and my tomato plants. The heat is also wilting my two beloved blokes. They don't have the luxury of Government-sponsored air conditioning for eight or so hours a day.

Also wilting, or possibly deep-fried, are the populations of Victoria and South Australia. Here's hoping for an icy breeze from Antarctica some time soon.

Cars

If someone wrote a new business plan for some kind of transport system and said Oh, it'll cost a fortune because you'll have to build factories all over the world, constantly rebuild horrendously expensive road systems, sacrifice thousands of people every year to violent death and injury, suck up totally un-renewable natural resources to build, maintain and power it, Oh and it'll also contribute to pollution more than any other single industry, the person evaluating the system would reply Are you completely crazy you crazy, crazy, crazy fool.

And you would say - you wouldn't have to sit next to anyone on the train.

And the person would say - well, that's all right then. Bring it on.

Harrumph.

Sally Fields moment

Aztec-Rose kindly butterflied me. How pleasant to have such kind and interesting readers. It's funny, I used to only be able to write things by confidently imagining that no one would ever read the words, but now I quite like having people read and comment. So thank you very much.

I would like to send it on to Adelaide from Adelaide (formerly Third Cat). It's her birthday soon, too.

And also to Ramping it Up, because whenever she finds the time to post it is a red letter day.

And I must confess to having a bit of a 'you like me, you really like me' moment this afternoon after seeing my butterfly. No Gwyneth Paltrow weeping about cousins though. I like and value my cousins, but if I ever win an Oscar they will not be getting a mention. And nor will they today.

Charles Darwin, a paddleboat and splash

The National Museum, which usually cannot decide if it supposed to be educational or entertaining, has come firmly down on the side of fun today. They are even selling ice cream in the foyer. Not particularly nice ice cream, I may say, but the thought is there.

The family had strolled down at 9.59 am to view the Darwin exhibition, which is much more interesting than it looks from the entry way. On the 10 o'clock rule we just squeaked it in - finding a parking spot nearish the door and avoiding the queue for tickets. Five minutes later would have been a disaster - cars, kids, queues and scary old people everywhere. I am not sure why Canberra residents and visitors insist on always arriving at things at 10 o'clock on the dot, but I am grateful for their predictability. I fear it is contagious, though, because our pre-Canberra arrival times for things was usually 9 or earlier.

After learning many factoids about the Beagle, fossils, Galapagos islands, horses hooves with vestigial toes and sandy walks, we repaired to the lakeside to eat our tasty whole grain bread rolls with diverse fillings. Near the museum is a most delightful spot for a picnic, since there is entertainment laid on. The paddle steamer, Enterprise, was tooting away and filling the air with the dual smells of burning and oil, seagulls and swans were hustling for scraps, small children were teetering up and down the hills, cyclists were zooming or huffing past according to their fitness levels. And best of all, there were people in pedal boats. Which was quite entertaining enough, even before two young women stopped their boat a few feet in front of us and decided to stand on the edge of the boat to take photos of each other. Sadly I missed the actual moment of entry, but it was a most satisfying splosh, and a very happily damp young woman clambered out of the lake. The other one jumped in shortly afterwards in the pursuit of justice and equality. I don't know when I've seen two people get such fun out of a body of water.

Which brings me to an important issue. The National Capital Authority website states that the water is (usually) safe for swimming. People go in the lake for triathlons. But the locals can produce an expression of deep scepticism bordering on horror if the notion of swimming in the lake is broached. So is it safe to swim in there or not? Where do locals go to swim in fresh water around here? Can you avoid floating algae as the National Capital Authority advise? Enquiring minds want to know.

Oh yes, and it's Australia Day and I am disconcerted by the amount of children getting around with flags draped around their shoulders.

The English Provinces

My aunty has been in town for a few days, and as well as delivering her own delightful company and some charming and amusing family photographs, she brought with her some books salvaged from my grandmother's house.

There is a large two volume dictionary from the late 19th century, which tells us not to misswear.

There is a wonderful book from the 1950s on Australian history since federation, with much enthusiasm about migrant labour (especially keen on people putting fruit into large boxes, it seems). The end papers have a colour reproduction of Old Parliament House on the day it was launched upon the seas of democracy, with the Red Ensign flying alongside the Union Jack. I will be taking this to work to show my colleagues, since it has been the subject of much debate recently.

But my favourite text so far is The English Province: a picturesque survey of the English and Welsh Counties, publishied in 1888 by George Routledge and Sons. Interestingly the author is P. Villars, but with a translation by Henry Frith. Translated from what, I wonder? The book also includes 250 illustrations of extraordinary fineness and detail. The reason I am loving it so, however, is this:

As the fundamental principle of the English Government is to permit everyone to manage his own business as he thinks best, the provincial administration is exclusively local and decentralized.

I am uncertain as to how true this was in 1888, but I am enjoying the self-governing business men inside my mind immensely. Right this minute they are hitting each other with umbrellas and walking out in front of traffic without looking left and right. Anarchy! (They are also wearing bowler hats and suits, and may be quite strongly influenced by Monty Python's depiction of men in the City).