The heatwave has arrived – days designed to be filled with such arduous tasks as lounging, snoozing, and finding a cool spot of water to tip in a toe or two. We arrived hot and flustered after a busy Friday to this quiet field below a castle, all to ourselves. House martins dipped and zoomed through the wheat stubble, and horses could be heard, but not seen, in the sunken lane below us. It would have been rude to not raise a glass of bubbly to this summer eve.

Sleeping in a hut, windows wide, makes for an early rise. But the pace of everything is so much slower that the early morning start feels refreshing. We were soon out on the country lanes sheltering from the heat beneath old trees arching their branches. The two fords downhill were too inviting to ignore, and the coolness of the water was worth the surprisingly deep dip. We spotted butterflies, nosed through hedgerows, and climbed dusty earth steps; a hectic schedule indeed.

We were back home on Sunday, and doing homework for the week ahead. Rarely does twenty four hours feel like such a luscious and languorous escape from it all.

On a busy Saturday, sandwiched between errands, we took ourselves off to the county show, just to wander around the grounds, visit some animals and soak up a bit of rural life. I have memories of visiting grand county fairs in Northwest America, complete with fairground and candy floss, tents of exquisite quilts, acres of livestock pens, and a man being shot of a canon.

The Isle of Wight version is a little less explosive, but equally charming. We watched the small collection of sheep on show, saw a laughably enthusiastic dog run through hoops, and visited the most enormous bovine I’ve ever seen. We walked through the woodland, under kids climbing trees, and people turning wood. The fresh timber hewn from the steam-powered saw mill made me long for a hand built house, which would also justify the purchase of a tidy old tractor, and a sensible selection of old tools.

We had to head off rather quickly, to get supplies in town and sing at a wedding. But we’ll be back next year, to have a go at the archery and maybe enter the contest for best Victoria sponge.

One of the many delights of having a friend to visit is the excuse to be a tourist in your own home town. Yesterday I picked a girlfriend up from the ferry and we headed to Osborne House, to wander the grounds, drink coffee on the private beach, and soak up a little Victorian history. Fun to have a grand venue for a good old natter.

But my goodness- I sure I am terrible at remembering to take photos. We were so busy chatting and catching up, that I barely took a single shot. It’s all well and good to be in the moment, but it’s a little sad to not have a memory of it later. I wonder if Instagram makes me focus my lense on the details and forget the people. If it weren’t for Tom our only photos would be of flowers, books and coffee cups! A year ago I reminded myself that I should take more photos; looks like I still need to work on that.