It was not until twilight that there was a gap in the rain. The lavender fronds lay battered against the stones. A pool of slugs congealed in the wet mingling with fallen petals from the rose, the air thick with the smell of moss. Deadheading the few plants that had dared to flower in this monsoon of a summer, I saw the advance of weeds, the agapanthus that fail to bloom. Above my head, a robin ventured out, singing from the top of the sycamore until the clouds gathered over again...
Hours spent gardening: 0.2
Slugs killed: 10. Tiny newly hatched ones like little bits of black bootlace
Visits to garden centre: 0
Rain is killing the will to garden.