Putative potager

It's raining and we've become not used to it.  

I ran into a woman outside the tabac with a saucepan lid on her head, running to her car to get her umbrella. 

But we're in tiny, new born spring which means you light the fire agin the humidity and an hour later the sun is out and the terrasse is steaming and the canal bubbles its' moss to the surface. 

Guru Jeff Wild gave me a lesson in allotments.  He'd already rotovated my tiny plot, carried out ph tests on soil acidity and dug in bags of sheep shit etc. 

I stooped beneath the Sunday rain and placed seed potatoes in the holes he made.  We planted tiny onions, embryonic curly kale and two gnarled rhubarb roots.  We covered the whole thing over and you'd think we'd done nothing at all.