Waving not drowning

The Hebridean Gardener’s Lament “its cold, wet and windy” or in my case the grumpy gardener blues is yet to be replaced by the sunny morning tuneless whistle as I pull on my red woolly hat and wellies and march off to the garden. In the “edgy islands” spring does not officially start until May

Flora’s Revenge

If you go around implying that someone’s daughter is a flirtatious flibbertigibet it is reasonably predictable that her father won’t be too impressed. Now if dad happens to be Zeus you can probably expect the odd thunderbolt and the wrath of the whole pantheon of gods. I knew I was in trouble when the ravens