I try very hard not to whinge, whine, moan, groan, bleet, etcetera, etcetera. There's no but here, I just over heard my next door neighbour say, "This weather of ours never knows what it wants to do with itself." Now, you see, OK it's been a bit rainy and a bit chilly for this time of year recently and the weather forecasts never seem to get it quite right, so, yes it's been a bit difficult to do things.
Being a gardener I have got relatively wet on recent days - that's relative to the people at Glastonbury Friday night, which was soaking, probably because those self-believers U2 were the headline act and it always rains on the self-righteous. Actually on Wednesday I got totally soaked to the skin in a downpour of biblical proportions. (How do people know what a biblical proportion is? I mean I can imagine a biblical portion of say chips, that would be a portion to satisfy any late Friday night crew, oceans of the lovely chipped potato beloved of the working classes. But rain of a biblical proportion? Dunno.)
Anyway, how would the weather know anything? The weather is:
|That's a grapevine over the brick archway and|
they don't pick 'em, so...
And finally, the other week when visiting Lundun tarn the first bus I saw was this abomination: