I cycled up to the man who sells cut flowers and veg from his garden. I grabbed the last bunch of Marigolds. I eyed the fat bunches of Sweet Williams and looked in my purse. I ummed and ahhed. Life is too short to deny oneself such humble delights. I ran back and got me some. It is raining again, and I am confined to my paintbrush, but here in the Hovel there is a bright patch of summer. And for you too.