I may have forgotten, but I don’t recall there being what Simon and I catchily refer to as one-of-those-weird-days when we lived in any of our other houses: from cities, to towns to just the other side of our village. Days when everything around us starts to feel a little frantic and out of control.
Either my memory has blanked it out or it is a phenomenon limited to the tiny ’60s council estate which we moved to ten years ago.
On one-of-these-weird-days there is a strange air. More shouting than usual, more fires lit to fill the air with black clouds of noxious smoke, more public drunkenness, more sirens announcing the emergency services driving onto the estate. It doesn’t fit with moon cycles, days of the week or the weather. I can see no pattern.
With the exception that heatwaves can trigger more of those days with not just the locals but the wildlife itself joining in. We had one of these recently, a couple of weeks into this long spell of oppressive heat that much of the UK is hoping will break soon.
A large hornet took up residence in my living room and refused to leave through the wide open windows. It bounced around hitting walls and windows, steadfastly resisting efforts to coax it back outside. After a time the loud, lazy droning became quite soporific.
Eventually it found its own route to freedom and nobody was hurt.
A neighbour kicked off inside their own home, screaming, shouting, destroying. It’s a regular occurrence and is already being monitored. We closed the windows and the curtains to the noise but on this occasion other neighbours poured out of their houses to witness.
We waited for the people to clear and the melting tarmac to cool so that we could walk the dog and we climbed over the stile just in time to see 6 horses stampede from their field, manes and tails flowing as they thundered along the footpath and onto the public green towards the A road.
We warned a man to keep his young children away from the horses and with that they all ran out of the kid’s gated enclosure and towards the horses yelling excitedly.
We called the police. Luckily the horses headed back and nobody was hurt.
And, by the evening, with stuffy nighttime temperatures requiring windows to be pushed as wide open as they can go, opposing sound systems kicked in, bass notes ricocheting around the backs of houses until they collided. Children shrieked in their gardens long after bedtime. Adults hollered conversations out of their windows across the street. Dogs added their staccato voices to the general cacophony.
And the next day, despite the heat still holding steady at 30C, all was quiet.