Dust, a Doomed Gazebo, and Two Flowers Worth Falling in Love With
If anyone was still holding out hope for a proper British summer washout, I'm sorry to disappoint you — we're now three weeks without a drop of rain, and the allotment's gone the colour of a digestive biscuit. Everything's dry, dusty, and creaking a bit, myself included. Sam, Iris and I have basically given up doing anything remotely productive up the plot this week beyond watering and weeding, which sounds dull written down like that, but honestly, when it's this hot, just keeping everything alive counts as a proper achievement. We've fallen into a routine now. Cans filled, hats on, and a sort of grim march up and down the rows before the sun gets its claws in properly. Iris has taken to humming while she waters, which I've decided means she's either perfectly content or has completely switched off and is thinking about something else entirely. Sam, meanwhile, weeds like it's personal, muttering at anything with the audacity to grow when it hasn...
