Throw a stick at any California summer, you'd hit a dozen of these

[desperance]

Oh dear, is it raining in all the world else? The Grand Prix is suspended, and people in England are grumbling at me.

It's, um, utterly lovely here in the South Bay. We've opened all the windows and eaten canteloupe to the sound of birdsong; now Karen is reading a week's worth of newspapers on the sofa, while I consider frying bacon because it is after all a Sunday and some things are just traditional wherever on the planet you may be. Besides, that bread needs toasting...