Soilman

The corn’s so close I can almost taste it. Sadly it needs about another week before we can scoff it.

What a weird season this has been. Such a cold April, so everything was delayed. Then a crazy warm patch, followed by this relentless rain and disappointment.

Come to think of it, that pretty much describes an average British summer. All we need now is the gorgeous September to complete the picture.

Just takes a few extra bad and/or extra good seasons to distort one’s perception. Memory is so fickle.

For instance, I lived in France 20 years ago. Since then, I’ve been committed to the kind of rosy, even utopic, view of France that only 20-year-old happy memories can sustain.

Then, recently, I found myself hunting for an open shop in rural France. On a Sunday.

If this means nothing to you, I’ll leave it to Francophiles of your acquaintance to explain why it’s a place you don’t want to go.

All I’ll say is that was the day I discovered that beating within me is the heart of a psychopathic serial killer. Who enjoys growing cauliflowers.

Memory. Not worth a rat’s arse.