I live in perpetual state of excitement caused by mundane things, a really good cookie, tearjerker films, the first page of a new book, a full moon, you know random everyday stuff. My husband on the other hand lives for two things, food and weather.

You should see him in a storm. In another life he’d be one of those fools driving around the middle of America in a pick-up truck, chasing tornadoes while screaming “ISN”T THIS FANTASTIC?!” Me, not so much. I like my weather like my steak, medium, pink with a warm centre. So when the heat wave here broke we were both overjoyed but for different reasons.

I was happy to be able to breathe again on the second floor of the housette while Rusty was happy about the way it broke, with wild abandon. Hail, torrential sheets of wind-whipped rain and lightning unlike anything I’ve ever seen, huge feathery starbursts of hot pink lighting that looked like holiday fireworks. Too fast and too compelling to look away from for pictures.

Of course where was Neil? Under the slope of the ceiling with his head stuck out through the skylight like a five year old. It was so amazing that I decided to do the same from the other skylight. So there we were, a couple of fools each with a head stuck through the roof during a giant electrical storm squealing across the clay tiles to each other. I can’t begin to imagine what the neigbours must think of us. At least we’re cheap dates.

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