This photo sums up our weather last week. Stark black rocks, gleaming white horses, gunmetal sea and slate grey sky. We watched the weather race across the channel with trepidation, sometimes it ducked around the corner to give Ilfracombe the soaking we thought was meant for us, mostly it just soaked us. The wind has blustered, sneaking into places you thought you had well protected with gusts that knock the breath out of you. The forecast, well the one I saw, predicted a frost for last night so yesterday we had two priorities, firstly ensuring that the tender plants were well protected and secondly turning off the water and draining the system. Most of the plants had been mulched already so it was just a case of the forgotten few and wishing them good luck. At the end of the day I covered the greenhouse plants with some horticultural fleece, tucked in snug and warm. The turning off of the water was a little more tricky. The stopcock is in the road and a couple of centimeters of mud has built up over it since we turned it back on in the spring. I felt like Indiana Jones, or perhaps his gorgeous sidekick, trying to locate the secret doorway to some ancient treasure. That was only the beginning of the fun as the cover seemed to have corroded onto the frame and took a lot of scraping, tugging, bending of iron bars, saying of naughty words and girl power to shift it. No treasure either only a mucky old tap. After all that it didn’t even freeze last night.