Why is there only one sunflower on the whole plot growing among the potatoes when it wasn't sown there when none of those we did sow have come up at all, and neither have the leaf chard, half the beetroot and ninety percent of the leeks?
Why are our neighbours already eating their beans when ours haven't even reached the top of the very lovely hazel-pole wigwam?
Why did these nasturtiums, that failed to appear last year, suddenly decide to turn up en masse?
Why do we put in too many courgette plants, never manage to pick the courgettes before they get too big (although the cucumbers are perfect) and then spend so long trawling books to find novel ways to cook them that we end up leaving them and going to bed; and why did I put into the wormery the egg box that I'd written down the plan of where I had planted all my potatoes so that now I don't know which are which; and why oh why do I never, ever tie up my tomato plants until it's too late. I just know they will have been beaten into the ground by the torrential showers we had today, though I'm hoping against hope that my beautiful Mexican hollyhocks from Jeanette will have survived the downpour.
And why the bloomin' heck did I decide on a log-cabin design at my quilting class when it would surely have been quicker to build a proper log cabin (6-8 weeks apparently, according to my web-based research) and move in?
Does any of this explain why I'm so tired?