Is this what the old goat meant? It seems to have been raining for ever. Not that I am complaining – I’m not a weather-moaner. If you can’t change something, then put up with it or move away from it is my philosophy, and I’m not going to let let water falling out of the sky affect my life.

In my first book, Best Foot Forward, I wrote that the first week of May, 1998, was as dismal and wet as all the preceding weeks right back to January, but on the 8th, summer finally arrived. In 2004, when we set off in a camping car to circumnavigate France and write A Perfect Circle, summer had arrived in south-west France by mid-May. Last year it didn’t really ever arrive, and here we are, first week of June, and it’s not looking promising.

The most noticeable effect is the garden. When we first moved to France in 1995, by mid-August there was not a blade of grass anywhere on our property. The ground was cracked earth with crispy yellow whiskers of burnt grass straggling over it. We had to feed the horses hay right through to the following spring, and about the only thing that grew were the roses. In contrast, now, the house is surrounded by a tropical jungle, and just keeping it under control is almost a full-time job. Growth is so rampant – the grass needs mowing every two days – but because it’s nearly always wet, that’s not possible. The herbs like mint and dill are running riot; forsythia and wiegelia need cutting back constantly,  the Virginia creeper has swallowed the guest house, and ivy is eating the outbuildings. As fast as we cut back, it springs to life again. And the weeds pop up merrily from the gravel and the cracks in the patio paving.

Anybody doubt that climate change is taking place?

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