Sunday was a last blast of summer heat. We lazed about the hut, changing the sheets, getting some washing on the line.
The doors and windows were flung open, despite the very unwelcome European wasps that have turned up for the year. Just in time to attack our plums and apples. Boo. Rob has set up traps, plastic tonic bottles hang in our orchard (there you are a reason to drink gin and tonics) with holes half way down and black currant cordial in the bottom. They are irresistible to the nasty creatures, and soon become a pulsing sea of wasp bodies. I am allergic to them and so keep well clear.
We took the pram and some buckets down to the gully on the side of our block to pick the first of the blackberries.
The girls fell asleep.
Rob has set up his new golf pins for dog golf. The paddock grass has been cropped short and is dry. Waiting for the autumn rain to become green.
I suddenly felt guilty that the girls have nearly lived through two summers and not put their toes in the sand or the sea. We've walked on the beach but have kept the girls in the back packs. So we headed down in the late afternoon to Coningham beach. I have to say it didn't go down all that well! They cried when we dangled their toes in the water, and sat on the towel looking worried, before relaxing a little. Then they grabbed handfuls of sand to eat.
An early dinner of cold roast pork, ratatouille, pan fried potatoes and zucchini, followed by blackberries and ice cream and it was time for a bath and bed.
