I am here now and again.

Summer is a goin' out. An apparently sunny day drenches me to the skin during one of the more extreme outbursts of nature's sense of irony. That'll teach me to wear sandals and a toe-ring in late August.

My neighbour cuts my grass for me, sweet thing that he is. The sun ripens my hanging-basket tomatoes, which were an experiment -- I won't try that again. They fruited profusely, but they taste of nothing. Back to the plastic gro-bags.

Other people's lives are soap operas and I just watch them. I'd like a bit of drama in mine, but the best I can do at the moment is a slowly maturing love affair that has the potential to be a vintage one or might just be corked. Who knows? Perhaps the grape variety is wrong...