Club Country

It's baking so what the hell. My wife and I decide to join an expensive country club for the summer period. Although it costs the earth, it's worth every penny and for a few hours on Sunday it's like being on holiday. Lounging by the pool and reading, leaping into the pool, strolling over to the children's play area, ordering a pot of tea for two. When I compare it to the shabby open air public pool we visited last week the old cliche 'you get what you pay for' rings true.

A boy on the walking bus this morning was screeching "Snape killed Dumbledore! Snape killed Dumbledore! He is the half-blood prince!" Now, I wouldn't normally be bothered, but I queued up in Woolworth's to buy the latest Harry Potter and now, if this little urchin is right, it's all been spoilt. Heaven knows how he read it so quickly, although a couple of people at the Country Club yesterday looked like they were nearly finished.

We'd driven to London and back for a kid's party. Mad, I know. So I threw in the Potter purchase and an hour in a secondhand bookshop. "Is that the new Harry Potter?" enquired the assistant. "Yes", I replied, "and I don't yet know who gets killed."

Monday and it's raining. Afternoon visit to the Country Club cancelled.