We are supposed to talk about the weather and little else in England. My preference is not to complain about it. Weather brings interest and variation and I am usually prepared to accept it whatever form it takes. But last spring and the first weeks of summer have been an exception. I have grumbled even on this blog about rain and cold and the reluctance of plants to grow and produce leaf and flower. The BBC weather centre with its icons forecasting gloom and damp have been a permanent feature of recent months. Now today the icons promise five days of full sunshine. A rare enough event to record with a photograph as though proof were needed.
In the vegetable garden the accustomed tranquillity is destroyed by the sound of a mechanical saw probably slicing metal on the building site next door. A pathetic sound, cruel yet whining. Naaraargh... aargh.
I am sitting at a table outside a cafe opposite the station when a young blond woman with a pleasant, cheerful face approaches my table: "Can I take one of your sugars, my love," she says. It is a pleasing form of address from a stranger. But I can't help asking myself if it would have been employed in similar circumstances were I ten years younger.