The rain continues to fall, sometimes drifting from a thatch of monotonous grey, sometimes hammering down from dark thunder clouds, which rear into the sky amongst the bright cirrus. I revel in these heavy downpours and their interruption by the warm sun which turns the air thick with vapour. During such an episode this morning I observed an immense rainbow arching up from the hill on which Blantyre Prison sits, behind its high fence. No doubt, amongst the lifers soon to be released (as they all are up there) there is long buried treasure soon to be liberated into society. Though I’m sure a few are irredeemable, all of the convicts I’ve met as they’ve stopped to buy honey or ask advice about growing rhubarb (not made up) seem good men, full of talk about family and loved ones, to whom they must be particularly precious.
The plum crop has been poor this year save for a late, yellow variety which are ripening now and it is these which I have turned to for drying and the provision of prunes.