Dying For a Drink

Went out at lunchtime after heavy morning showers. Heard a greedy slurping sound coming from the side of the garage and found Freda, our last rose of summer, chugging away like a drunken sailor.

Poor, parched thing, she'll need every drop; the sun came out later in the afternoon and the forecast for the rest of the week is sun, sun, sun, not another drop of rain til September . . .