It's days like these that I feel sorry for the St Ives tourist. The weather doesn't know what to do with itself. We've had it all in the past forty eight hours. The greenhouse has been the victim of a howling gale, and I now have smashed glass all over my seed trays. It's no joke picking out tiny splinters of glass from your borlottis, I can tell you.
I am hoping that April sorts it's indecision out, and brings forth sunshine.