St. Swithens Day
As I write this it's raining - not torrential, nor a steady down pour; more a light intermittent flurry, but however trivial, it's most welcome. The ground is parched, the once green sward resembles thatch. The waterbutts (all four of them) are virtually empty and we are relying on watering cans and the garden hose (I suspect for not much longer). This has been one of the warmest and driest springs and summers we have known, the sort of heat that melts butter as soon as it's taken out of the fridge. Where dogs laze on anything cool they can find, the rest of us remain hot and sticky. In spite of this, the garden is coping. French and runner beans are bountiful, the tomatoes are ripening early and our singular 'Crown Prince' squash is intent on taking over the space allotted to it. Not content with climbing a trellis, it's venturing into the french beans frame with gusto. I put this down to the soil. It was rich when we inherited this garden but yearly addit...
