Soggy rose

It has not stopped raining all day so the best I can manage is a soggy rose.  I saw nothing of the wedding I was ringing at as we were ringing both before and after the service so the whole time was spent up the tower.  Still, the time passed pleasantly.  One of the ringers brought up a bundle of copperplate handwritten accounts of veterinary tinctures and potions on the farm.  Some of them were amazing but no doubt worked, having been handed down from generation to generation.  The spelling was bizarre but then I worked out that the words were written as they would have been spoken with a broad Lincolnshire accent.  While we were waiting during the service proper, Rachel cleaned the old bottle collection which forms part of the hotchpotch of items that make up the informal ringing chamber museum of yesteryear.