I can’t stand the rain…
Okay, it’s time to break out the snorkel and check the new-born for webbed fingers. I know it’s Wimbledon-time but this is taking the piss. It’s raining!
No, I mean it’s like St Swithen and Noah looking out and saying ‘better take an umbrella’. It’s wet. But the wet is coming in ten minute packages. And it’s a week’s wet! It’s so wet I was draining my rain-barrel into the drain. It’s so wet I was battling ants who were driven by the water into my house (so far the winner appears to be me and my mastic gun sealing every micro-crack at the back of the house, but they are sneaky bastards).
It’s so wet that I almost, almost, regret putting lawn feed on my lawn a couple of weeks ago, when it started raining. One word: meadow.
Bald patches, moss, clover, bare patches, those patches where I hammered the gazebo into last summer…all gone. Fertiliser and a LOT of water = knee high grass.
No, I mean it’s like St Swithen and Noah looking out and saying ‘better take an umbrella’. It’s wet. But the wet is coming in ten minute packages. And it’s a week’s wet! It’s so wet I was draining my rain-barrel into the drain. It’s so wet I was battling ants who were driven by the water into my house (so far the winner appears to be me and my mastic gun sealing every micro-crack at the back of the house, but they are sneaky bastards).
It’s so wet that I almost, almost, regret putting lawn feed on my lawn a couple of weeks ago, when it started raining. One word: meadow.
Bald patches, moss, clover, bare patches, those patches where I hammered the gazebo into last summer…all gone. Fertiliser and a LOT of water = knee high grass.
