It's just too hot. Like Jagger/Richards, "The sunshine bores the daylights out of me." I find the standard NW European discourse around weather: sunny & warm = good; cool/cold wet = bad, to be tedious in the extreme. If we all lived in tents, it might have something going for it, but even tents get fetid in warm weather, I've found. I can't explain it, but my spirits rise with the level of my pond.
Much of the UK got heavy thunderstorms today, people injured in Co Antrim, but not a drop of rain has fallen on Glasgow, despite that high pressure feeling of irritation, reminiscent of Ulysses, which at least got the release of the downpour. This heat and the tooth aching pressure, like a sordid, dangerous love affair which never gets consummated.
But I laid another few feet of the skinny path. I weeded round the NW corner, where the currant and berry bushes mostly are, discarding five of them that hadn't come back to life. Gorse will take their place, as well as the whole back row along here, the most likely boundary to get a Ned incursion.
And then found that phacelia seed, like clover, goes very well in the flour sifter, for sowing. I had plenty: 50 g to cover about 35sq yards. Have got a bit left over, maybe 15g. Sown by walking over bed with flour sifter, shaking liberally, and then back over scraping the rake around. As that earth has dried in the drought, the clay lumps have become more obvious than when I was digging it over, so walking about with the rake was going some way to breaking them up. Should be marvelous soil, next year.
The tattie bed IS marvelous soil, this year, apparently. The 59p a kilo regular eating potatoes, maris peer, from Lidl, are doing fabulously, flying out of the ground, as Dad would say.
It's a salutary victory for the cheapest=best school of allotment philosophy.