I hate to talk about the weather, it's the most unimaginative
topic of conversation there is, but . . . . . .
it is my opinion that we are now in the wettest drought in living memory.
And still it's the wrong sort of rain!
And not enough of it.
We carefully pick our way along the banks of the overflowing river
and through puddles on the path round the castle.
All those of you who have exclaimed in wonder at the beauty of
the Shropshire Hills in your comments, do you still envy me?
This is what it looks like for a good six months of the year - if you're lucky.
These photos have not been faded or adulterated in any way.
I've had enough . . . . . . .
Somebody, anybody, turn the bloody tap off!