Sunny Saturday

It's been one of those days when the sun soaks into your bones, and it's impossible to move fast. Hay looks Continental, with cafe tables on the pavements. In the Buttermarket, St Mary's were having their Summer Fete, with the usual bric a brac stalls and refreshments, and every other person walking by seemed to have an ice cream cone in their hand. Islay lay toasting in the sun, occasionally flopping in the shade, and making her usual rounds of the cafe tables in Backfold.
Later in the evening, I passed by La Fosse guest house, and heard banjo music from the open conservatory window, where the chap who owns the place was practicing. Islay ran up to say hello to Charlie the Scottie dog through the window (sometimes she manages to jump right inside, but she didn't make the attempt this evening).

Marina has met the new manager of the Wheatsheaf, which is next door to her house. It's changed hands very quietly - she thinks to the same people who own the Maesllwch at Glasbury, which isn't far away. She's hoping that the Wheatsheaf will quieten down under the new regime - it's always had the reputation of being the 'rough' pub in the evenings.

Meanwhile, a new barbers' shop has opened on Castle Street, Harpers, where the art gallery used to be, and before that, Edward Foreman's bookshop. They've painted the woodwork a particularly vile shade of green, but that's not going to affect the quality of the hair cuts.