Wet, wet, wet ...

It wasn't so relentlessly wet in the morning - in fact, I walked down to the supermarket for a few things, and I was wearing sneakers and bare feet (and a cagoule ...), but the afternoon grew considerably worse. I'd had a domestic sort of morning (I even dusted and polished - not like me at all) and a sociable lunchtime (a visiting organist, come to play our new instrument - brought me flowers too, which was lovely) but when that was all over I'd had enough of the house and rang my pal, the only person mad enough to walk in a downpour.

After a brief but fierce altercation with a man who I fear may have been one of the new people across the road whose vehicles now make it nearly impossible for anyone visiting us to park, we headed off up the Bishop's Glen - again, I know, but my pal rarely goes there. By the time we'd explored a rough path to see if it led to where the path went before the forestry road (yes) my trousers were wet enough for the water to be running down my legs inside the fabric and I could feel my socks squelching. So when yet another clump of red leaves called to me from beside a ditch, they provided the only photo I've taken all day.

My cagoule is still over a chair in an attempt to get it dry for tomorrow ...