The rain is back again, carried in by an easterly wind, which we don’t normally get out here. The gumboots are all full of water. Kete is miserable. Taja’s curled up in the smallest ball she can make herself, and Smitty has his bum to the weather, hunkered down patiently waiting for summer. Smitty, you’ll be waiting a while.
Then when I looked out this morning I couldn’t believe the pruners were giving it a go, wrapped up like yetis.
It’s freezing cold out there, but since I had to trudge down the drive and fetch two barrowloads of firewood, I took the camera and snapped Bevan, Rick and Sean before they admitted defeat and went off to find some inside jobs. It’s not good to prune in the rain, anyway, whether it be grapes or roses you’re pruning, because disease spreads like golden syrup in a warm pan.
And since the power keeps surging on and off, I’ll keep this blog brief, least I get caught short mid sen…