Forget about 40ºC, that's for lightweights - I've just measured 43ºC on my balcony!
At these temperatures my brain turns to mush and begs for trashy novels, dodgy computer games and viciously chilled lager, none of which come high up on my list of priorities in normal circumstances!
An Extremaduran summer offers few highlights, but open-air concerts in cool night air do prove an exception. Here's a clip from just such an evening. The band is called Acetre, one of the best groups in this region:
It might seem odd that, not having eaten meat since 1982, I should become
obsessed with something so very meaty, but Siobhán Campbell’s poem ‘Rump’
in the ...
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