Wet on black

We have a hosepipe ban here and have had since the start of the month (as far as I know - don't have a hosepipe so I've not been taking notes). Of course since the prairies of Kent were declared a barren dust-bowl we've not had many days without at least a sprinkling of precipitation. The local BBC weather-people, either Michael Fish or one of the pregnant ones, spend a few moments each evening explaining that it's the wrong sort of rain or it's falling in the wrong place or at the wrong time of day so it looks unlikely that I'll have to cancel my order for a camel and a dishdasha and keffiyeh. I'm not suggesting that Mr Fish is responsible for the expectant state of his colleagues, I'm sure he is a model of respectability, and it may be that I've not been paying attention but there seems to be a high incidence of pregnancy amongst the female weather presenters working for the BBC in the South East.

Monday is out of the way now so you'll have a better idea what shape the week will take - I hope it's looking rosy!