Blighted!

It’s the final insult this sodding, sodden summer can hurl at me. I’ve just discovered that my tomatoes, of which I had high hopes, have got blight. On the day before I go on hols. There is nothing to be done. Except hurl imprecations at the bloody weather. And circumstance. And myself for not spraying them earlier. It looks as if I’ll be living out of tins this winter.

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