Rain

Well, here it is pouring with rain (in May!) - and I’m gled, gled I tell you – because it will give my garden a good soaking. Somehow the soil doesn’t absorb a sudden watering, but sweet, gentle steady rain it laps up. The martyred fig tree, the vine, the rose New Dawn, the lilies of the field consider themselves considered.

I seem to have nothing to do, so I have scrubbed and vacuumed, and two plump oiled and scented Cornish rock hens are cosying up in the oven with lime, ginger and honey, garlic and olive oil. And cardamom flapjacks, so the house smells like heaven.

I had another steroid injection in my thumb, and if that doesn’t work I’m for the chop. I have decided I can’t put the kitchen window in by myself so that should give my joints a rest, so there’s a chance I won’t need an operation. I just don’t like roping in my activities if I don’t have to.

A glorious thing called a Freehander will be arriving this week, it lengthens the shower head. I’m almost sorry I didn’t get the spa attachment to my bath, the only way I could get a bath which was deeper than the usual Californian horse trough was to go for a spa minus the apparatus, and Canadian to boot. I thought the bubbling bit would be effete, now I wonder.

Twitching to get busy again.