Welcome to my perfumed garden

Pouring out of the sky, coming out of the ground; springs burble, becks roar, paths have turned into rivers, rivers into raging torrents and the waterfall's gone mental! Walking in the woods is a slippery and squelchy experience. Cutting across the rocks at the top of the gorge, yesterday, was distinctly hair-raising (and made me instantly think of a Blair-fic for some reason. It's cold, it's wet, we're alone in the woods, far from the beaten path - someone slips and falls... Hmmmm. Why do you think THAT made me think of Blair? :Thinks: :D).

OK. I live in the Atlantic North West. It's always on the damp side, but this is exceptional. This is uber-wet. This is gold medal winning moist. This is as wet as it was when Mr Cold-n-Wet-is-My-World won the Mr Raindrop, I Am the God of Rain and Raindancer of the Year competitions, all in the space of one week.This is wet, even for Lancashire.

It's the wettest May since 1983, apparently. And sub-tropically warm; quite stifling outside. At a time of year when nature is wont to be green and lush and lovely, anyway, it's quite extraordinary. If I manage to get out sometime today, I'll try and do some piccies and - assuming I don't plunge to my death in the attempt - try and post them later.