In my memory it was always warm on my special radio days, and the back garden always bathed in sunlight. With my very white skin that would mean I would get a tremendous sunburn very fast. I had way too much experience with that.
In July, I never fell for the enticing lure of sunbathing. I had better plans in front of the house, the shadow side.
I took one of the folding garden chairs, metal with a faded linen seat, and installed it on the small patio in front of the house.
I went back in and got a small bench that was perfect to rest your feet on, grabbed a glass of lemonade, a book and the most important of the whole mission: my transistor radio. I loved that thing. It had an aluminium and brown front and the controls were on the top. It had a long antenna and a handle to hold it on.
I installed myself, set down the radio, turned it on, searched for the radio station and when I found it, I smiled.
Radio Tour de France.
The funny thing is, I started to listen to Radio Tour de France for the music. All those dream-like French chansons, making me feel like I was somewhere in a magical place where women sang in little girl voices and men sang deep and seductive.
I came for the music, but before long I l started to follow the race, getting excited, cheering for cyclists from my country.
My book often rested, forgotten, in my lap.
It was always a disappointment when the wind got too cold and I had to head in to join the real world.
Or maybe, just maybe, I left the real world behind on the small patio outside the front door.