I feel bad for my telly this week. His little light has barely changed from black to red to green. Aside from Saturday when a vomity migraine positioned me in front of him, curtains drawn, while Joey and Chandler whispered their jokes and I braved toast, he’s mostly been ignored.
This is what happens when we get A SUMMER. Of course, by the time you read this, our summer may be over, but for now I can’t waste it.
I have a garden for the first time in my adult life and in between driving to gigs and writing jokes, I have tea breaks with choc ices on the grass.
I fell asleep in the garden the other day. No need to worry about sun burn, I was face down. Though I inhaled my fair share of ants.
I even bought a Swingball. I’ve gone summer-mad. It’s like I have a summer twin who wears leg-baring dresses even though she still doesn’t know how to get out of cars in them, so holds a handbag to prevent pant showage. She makes drinks with ice – but they’re in beakers as she smashes glasses too often to be trusted with one. She wears sunglasses on her head – but still has glasses on her face.
Summer Sarah has outside activities now. And not just Swingball on her own (much easier) and super-soaking plants. Her greenhouse is no longer empty and a reminder of hobbies she hasn’t started yet. There is food and flowers growing from seeds and the local wild rabbits are stuffed full of her strawberries and pansies. So much so she’s considering planting some Gaviscon seeds for them, poor buggers.
And all the while, amid the girly giggling because Summer Sarah can’t quite work a sprinkler without making her feet look like she’s wet herself, the telly is dormant. It’s stockpiling programmes for when all this glorious sunshine reverts back to looking for gaps in the clouds that might dry your washing.
For when we all come crawling back, ruddy faced and stripey footed, full of a year’s worth of Soleros and a Mini Milks you found at the bottom of your freezer underneath all of the bread you never defrost because it’s only really good for toast. For when we bin our plimsolls because we can smell them from anywhere in the house, stop having to declag our underboobs with kitchen roll hourly and pop the telly on to see the summer we missed.
Oh, and you can still eat Magnums in the house, you know. I tried it and nothing happened. Apart from the fact that I was very happy.
The Sarah Millican Television Programme is repeated Monday at 10:00pm on BBC2