From the bottom of the pond

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with a friend on a trip to a us garden and Manor House of National fame.

It had of course, rained quite a lot in the morning, but we piled into the coach around lunch-time and headed off to see the annual display of tulips.

As we disembarked the heavens opened once more and we stood under our brollies listening to a fairly long-winded description of the mediaeval manor and some of its history.

We then started our walk around the admittedly beautiful display of rare, old, and new tulips.  They were breathtaking, and the gardens were a lovely sight, but it continued to rain and we were quite glad to be able to get into the old well-house with its collection of excavated artifacts.  We started our tour of the house an hour after arrival, damp and pleased to be out of the rain for a  while.

Not their fault I know, but I had been there several times before over a period of 30 years, and the lengthy tales of the inhabitants of the house over the centuries, while interesting, did not make  up for  badly aching legs and nowhere to sit.

When we had finally completed the tour of the house, we started on the bit of the garden we had not previously covered, and it began to rain in earnest.  This was no trifling piddling little shower, it was a monsoon.  So we headed for the tea and cake on offer in a nice warm dry tea-room.

As we clambered, in various states of sogginess into the coach, we all, amazingly, agreed that it had been a truly lovely afternoon, that the house and its history were fascinating and the gardens fabulous.
"Pity about the weather, but then you can't have everything can you?" we said.

It has now poured for about five  weeks (feels more like five months) and I offer this, as a little, personal plea.

Rain please stop I pray
Cease right now and stay away,
This is not some childish whim.
Simply that I cannot swim.