One Plum

After extensive tree husbandry, not to mention patchy care and sporadic attention, we're going to be rewarded this year with a single plum. The fruit of some sweaty labours, assuming that this little green fellow survives the next few weeks of wind, rain, loud traffic noises and random wasp attacks.

I woke up with Cinnamon Girl rattling around in my head, full of unresolved chords resolving and my mispronounced lyrics spilling across my imagination. It had been an uneventful night, the promised thunderstorms described so eloquently by the motorway warning signs in amber capitals did not appear over our town. 

The extreme weather stayed away and presumably all landed on Clarkson's Farm in the Cotswolds to thwart his harvesting plans. I felt slightly cheated. I wanted the rain's sweet drum beats on the window to stir me at 3am as distant thunder rolled across the River Forth like an attacking alien force.

So today it's mild rain, broody skies, sticky temperatures and no biblical style storm. I hope the solitary plum survived the horrid ordeal. Thursday's looking a bit rough according to the Met Office, it may take a battering then, I'll see what the AI on the motorway thinks.