The shadow from one of our locust trees was falling on the back wall in such a way that it made it look, this morning - if you didn't look too hard - as though we'd grown a wooden gate. It was still bearable, outside, at breakfast time. Actually I exaggerate: there was a light breeze this morning, and I even worked there for a while, but the temperatures have climbed higher and higher all day - although nothing, I know, to those in Southern Europe. Meanwhile I was, quite suitably, writing about the origins of petroleum, tiny zooplankton, and the very large plastic snails made by the art collective Cracking Art.
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