For the last two years or so, the
weather has been . . . unusual. There seems to be a lot more energy
in the systems that drive weather and I am sure this is not just here
in the UK but pretty much world wide. Everything seems magnified.
There are periods of drought followed by torrential downpours and
flooding. In winter the temperatures drop to record lows and in
summers they soar to record highs. How much of this is natural and
how much is caused by what we all do, I really don’t know. What I
do know is that the weather forecasters seem to be finding it harder
than ever to offer accurate predictions despite having far better
information these days.
It is this that caused all the problems
on Wednesday. We had been expecting a nice sunny day after some
pretty miserable conditions that followed the super-hot June and into
July. So we made plans. Plans that were all based on the sun shining.
Plans that included visiting parts of the coast and taking some good
photographs and video of people enjoying themselves on the beaches,
cavorting merrily in places such as Dartmouth and generally having a
happy holiday.
The sun obviously had not been
listening to the South West of England’s weather forecast. It spent
the entire day sulking behind a pall of low cloud from which drifted
down a gentle drizzle which soaked everything and everybody.
Still, the British are a stoical lot
and they were determined to make the best of things: some even seemed
to enjoying, cavorting and happily holidaying. I must mention one
group, two chaps with their wives. Suddenly (and luckily just as we
were pulling to a halt) the windscreen wiper in front of me flicked
into the air and landed on the bonnet. Hastily switching off the
wipers – and the engine – I hopped out to take a look. Everything
seemed to be there: the wiper itself and a little gadget with which
it is attached to the wiper arm. The only problem was I had no idea
how these things fitted together and that is where this cheerful
quartet came in.
 |
| Taken on a better day: the boatfloat and, below, Foss Street. |
I asked the nearest chap whether he had
any ideas. No, he said, but my chum does. He called the other chap
over and he had a look. Obviously he knew what he was doing and he
had a go but it was his wife who, I think she was losing patience,
took the situation in hand and soon all was right as rain. We saw
them again later in the morning – now in Dartmouth – and all
waved cheerfully as they passed.
Still, the week wasn’t a complete
washout. Marcia is pretty sure that Dartmouth will feature in the
next book so I took a few photos so that she could remember what it
was like in the damp and gloom. This was, of course, completely
unnecessary as we lived there many years ago and know it in all its
moods. Even so, I have printed some off in a montage so that they can
join the others she has at hand when she is actually writing.
Staring into the middle distance in the
hope of something good arriving is Mitzie.
