My blog title is a line
from a rather slushy,or rather heart rending(,depending upon your
disposition) song from the fifteenth century.
It has been my
experience that there is damn all romantic about “small rain”, it
is the kind of rain that drenches you before you even realise you are
damp. This dampness permeates the house through keyholes and cracks
and it forms a dull grey curtain between you and anything distant you
may be looking at.
I spent most of my
morning baking shortbread for my son,s volunteers at tomorrows river
clear up.
Rejoicing I changed
into my tatty old gardening togs and lo! The moment I set foot across
the threshhold the small rain began to rain,yet another reprieve for the dandelions!
Muttering curses I
returned to the house ,changed my clothes again and got on with the
blasted ironing,by which time the curses were rather louder!
Towards evening a
strong wind got up and blew all the fleece covers of the
seedlings......more curses...then the rain cam in torrents. Didn't
Dan Chaucer say something about “ April with it's showers sweet
,I'd like to wring the old fools neck!.”
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