In fair weather and foul

You'll never find a farmer who is overjoyed with the weather, but it's surprising how it balances out in the end

- Jamie Blackett

I WRITE in my office, a log cabin in dense jungle by the beach, away from the tyranny of domestic emergencies. In July, it is covered by bright white tresses of rambling rose and the surrounding trees are ringing with thrushes, complementing the gentle piping of the oystercatchers. It is a satisfactory arrangement, although it sometimes means getting wet on my way to work.

Today was a sprint through biblical rain and I am sitting in damp clothes. Whether it is because the earth was corrupt before the Lord and filled with violence' or some more prosaic reason, it is beginning to feel as if the Almighty is bent on sending us 'forty days and forty nights of rain' in one of those periodic bouts of precipitation that happen from time to time to sharpen us up and chasten us for taking good weather for granted.