Jardin sous la pluie

I tend to cherish childhood memories of walks on a crisp Glasgow Ne'erday morning - of my father pointing out the peculiar gait of a drunk staggering along the pavement as if it was receding under his feet, of the sun melting the frost on the roofs, of going home to lunch that miraculously was created while we were out.

But as often as not, in the past 40 years of living in Dunoon, Ne'erday is mild, pouring with rain and frequently lashed by gales that drive the water up the Firth and discommode the limited number of ferries that sail on that day. Today was such a day, and by the time we got up this morning the back garden was already flooded.

No wonder I never try to grow bulbs in that border - they'd rot in the first winter.