Wet,Wet, Wet

The faint noise I hear in the background must surely be the carrots and broccoli singing in ecstasy with the advent of a day of unremitting rain.

Dreich is not a strong enough adjective to describe this Sunday of gloom.
It reminds me too well of all the wet Sundays of my childhood when we had forced visits to my aged grandparents living in a rain blackened tenement across town and the ensuing 2 hours of boredom as my brother and I sat quietly waiting for the time when we could go home. Children should be seen but not heard was the mantra in those days.

Sundays back then in the dark ages were days when it was frowned upon to do any thing other than attend church and visit relations. There was no playing outside for children and even something as innocuous as knitting was frowned upon.
All these decades later, a Sunday of pouring rain with low mist hanging over the city, brings back all those memories.

However the vegetables are happy and the grass outside the Dower House is green again, but I wonder what all the tourists stravaiging the Edinburgh streets are thinking?