The last week of September, lunch time escapes to the park, propped against a sunny wall for an hour, hidden behind a flower bed, reading Murakami. Friday night dinner at a friend's in North London, he cooks us dosas with potato filling, tumeric stained, dollops of fresh coconut chutney. We drink cold beers and enjoy the warm evening air through the open balcony doors, the arches of Wembley not quite visible in the distance.
The first of October, a Saturday, I wake early for a lift to Norfolk to see my family. It's hot, very hot, so what else to do but head to the coast? Lunch in a pub garden, lemonade and lime, peeling paint and panting Labradors. Passing the crab fishers, walking up to the dunes and nestling amongst them with out books and sunglasses. Later, scones and whipped cream in a courtyard garden, sparrows flitting for crumbs. On the Sunday we drive to my sister, the new term has just started. We take her a laundry basket and extra mugs, a spare lamp and a bunch of flowers I've picked that morning from the garden. We go for brunch then on the walk home, because of the heat, succumb to ice lollies from the Co-op. We suck on them in her small walled garden, savouring the sun, our bare feet, knowing it will probably be the last time for awhile.