July - family dogs, Brent Cross fairground- this can't be the end of summer.

July- family dogs, Brent Cross fairground - this can't be the end of summer.

Oh no! What happened there. Up until this point the British summer has been pleasantly warm, surprisingly hot and agreeably trustworthy. But today July caught us out and played games with us. By mid afternoon the rain began to fall in biblical torrents and we all rushed indoors to shelter from the dripping, deluge laden skies. None had given us ample warning of this mini monsoon because it had hitherto been a beautiful June and July so eventually something had to give sooner or later.

 But there were no omens and portents and I've no recollection of any rain on St Swithin's Day which is normally the traditional indicator of whether it's going to rain every day for the next four months. What nonsense I hear you say. And you'd be absolutely right. That's just an urban myth or a suburban myth if you live in the suburbs. This is surely an off day because by the middle of next week the British heatwave, which has temporarily deserted us, will be back with a vengeance, soaring to the giddy heights of 85 degrees Fahrenheit by lunch time on Monday. Britain had better be prepared because the sun worshippers are in for a treat. We can but hope.

Today at a family gathering in Reading, the marquees were up, the food and drink enticingly mouth watering and spirits were high. But then the floodgates opened and the rain fell in buckets from the weeping, bawling and then sobbing sky. The rain peppered the roof, then hammered down against the roof emphatically and decisively as if determined to make its bold announcement on the day.

 There was rain, blunt rain, forthright rain, intensive rain, the kind of English summer's day most of Britain has become more or less conditioned to, felt ever so slightly apologetic about and then held its hands out with looks of desperate resignation. Why do we always get these summer days on the wrong days because this is was our family summer barbecue and it would have been so good to spend good quality time with the people we love in the garden, just chattering and laughing, reminiscing and reflecting, exchanging good natured conversation and revelling in warm dialogue about the latest events of the day?

Sadly we had to move indoors and were promptly joined by our family dogs. There is something very morale boosting and re-assuring about the family dog that always seems to lift our mood when we come home from work, school or a long holiday, we're tired and all we want to do is slump in front of the TV and drop off to sleep. But then the dogs come bounding up to you, jumping up almost triumphantly at you and then greeting you with all the joy of long lost friends. They smother us all with unconditional love and affection, paws reaching out to us with the most delighted greeting and then utterly pleased to see you again.


The day started out unpromisingly. The whole of North London seemed to be trapped in the grip of roadworks, a sea of red and white cones, chronic traffic congestion and wherever you looked cars seemed to be blocked off, strangled by more traffic jams and nothing but cars, buses and lorries were all jostling, competing, inching slowly forward and then getting nowhere in particular.

 One of these days the whole of London will grind to a complete standstill and nothing will ever move on the road again. There is stagnation, immobility, awkwardness and inconvenience everywhere and one day the seething, impatient motorists will just get out of their cars and just count to 10, curse briefly and then just laugh at what looks like the sheer futility of car travel. But my family are brilliant drivers and I have nothing but the utmost sympathy for the trials and tribulations of navigating the daily traffic that regularly confronts them.

This morning there were extensive roadworks, engineering works at every juncture and more traffic lights. conspiring spitefully to make life as difficult for us as possible. There were cars pulling out in front of us sharply, weaving, dodging, crawling at a snail's pace, stopping annoyingly, lumbering forward laboriously and then surrendering gratefully when once again the lights had turned red again for probably the thousandth time.

It would be the recurring theme of the journey until we reached our destination. Eventually the traffic subsided but perhaps grudgingly and it was a relief to reach open road and the free flowing motorway. But I have to tell you it was the worth the wait. Those dogs made our day, made my day. They were wonderfully sympathetic, admirably non judgmental and so understanding. We set to work on our burgers, lamb, coleslaw and all of the culinary indulgences that make family barbecues so memorable.

On the way back we eventually came to the Brent Cross fairground. Now I'm not sure how motorway fairgrounds ever came into existence and into the popular consciousness. But this was Brent Cross shopping centre, a hotbed of commerce and trade, a buying and selling community where food, drink and clothes are happily invested in. This seemed to be the last place you'd expect to find a fairground but there it was in all its splendour and it hardly seemed possible. But there it was in the unlikeliest venue imaginable and a wondrous revelation it was.

So it was that we arrived home back in Manor House. By now the rain had now re-located to some other geographical landmark in the world. It had been a satisfying day and, without any shadow of a doubt, a wet and windy one. But those dogs were the most stimulating company, real tonics, animal acquaintances who just wanted to make our day one that would never ever be forgotten.

 Summer is slowly receding and the autumnal mists of August and September will once again settle on innumerable landscapes. Still July remains with us and the last of the summer wine is maturing in a million British cellars. The summer circuses, village fetes and outdoor pop concerts have packed up for the season almost reluctantly. July will become August and shortly the festivities of late December will once again pay their annual global visit.

 But the rains of late July were somehow out of character with the rest of the month. I remain confident that the heat and warmth will make a welcome return to British shores. But then how we love the rain in England. A summer in England would be incomplete without just a drop of the wet stuff . Still it's time to put that umbrella anyway. Bring on that heatwave.