Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood
So follow me follow down to the hollow
And there let me wallow in glorious mud.....
The heavens opened as we passed through the turnstiles onto the showground at Tatton Park for the RHS Flower Show, but I imagine that the previous fortnight's incessant rain had already taken its toll. The brief but heavy shower passed over but the sodden ground already resembled a mudbath. The gardens, largely protected from the public's feet, remained pristine, but elsewhere - glorious mud.
Those with their wits about them had come equipped with wellies - the sturdy green and rural Hunters and Aigles - or whimsical suburban Cath Kidson inspired floral boots. The clog de nos jours , the Croc was much in evidence too. By some miracle of forward planning I had taken and was wearing my ancient gardening Birkenstocks. Then there were the ghastly trainers - now even worse for their clarted-upness. At the bottom of the 'come-equipped' heap were those whose footwear made no concession to the weather whatsoever. They were to be seen with grey mud oozing between toes........nice.
Trench foot aside the show was rather lacklustre - some nice bits of planting and construction here and there but little to set the world on fire. Chelsea of the north it wasn't. Perhaps we won't bother again.