Day 247: Tarred and Feathered

Unfamiliar

The hottest day of the year.  Apparently.  Not that I'd know, because I'm in an air-conditioned room until half past four.  I emerge with parched eyeballs and slight goosebumps to a Mediterranean late afternoon.  My car is waiting for me, looking disreputable amongst its carefully polished peers in the car park  In the recent heat, the lime trees on my street have been raining sticky sap.  In addition there must have been a nearby incident involving a bird (and probably a fox).  Essentially my car has been tarred and feathered.  Lightly, but distinctly.  I really should wash it.  At some stage.  This year.   

Compensate by doing some late laundry (it's a gesture towards a cleaner lifestyle).  Hang it out on the line in the evening sun, where it dries by half eight.  Strange times.  In the garden the air is dropsied with scent - honeysuckle, jasmine and sweet pea, punching well above their weight.

All is quiet and still.  Except for the loud and panicky alarm call of a blackbird, high in the branches of the lime* tree outside the front door.

I think my car may be in for another feathering.

(* Have just been thinking about bird 'lime' (ie shit).  It's a good word.  I may start to use it.  'He's full of lime'.  'Don't come in - I'm having a lime.'  Or may favourite expletive - 'Bulllime!' (Yes - THREE x l).

There's a satisfying circular connection between lime trees, then lime AND bird-lime AND bird on my car, then bird in the lime tree.  It's a Venn waiting to happen.