It’s been one day of overwhelm after another, with the fond hope the next day will somehow be different.

Yet day after day it’s the same thing.

Not exactly the same thing, but like a game of whack-a-mole, with something unexpected from left field.

Some thing you thought would be simple, but turns out to have some expected complexity.

Like yesterday’s weeding.

In which a patch of grass had grown up and through the rosemary, and was in such a state of enmeshment, the rosemary part of the mess had to be pruned away.

Leaving an unexpected patch of violets in the middle.

And since my least favourite aunt gave me a violet pastille as a child, which made me ill, I’ve loathed violets.

And the poor aunt.

Serves me right for not ripping them out sooner.

The violets that is, not the aunt.

There’s always something, as I often like to say.

But like the overwhelm, they’re always there, waiting for their chance to grow and take over.

It’s a shame there isn’t a spray for that – overwhelm-be-gone.

Which hopefully won’t smell like violets.