Woken by the sounds of thunder in the darkness, the storm continuing all night, rain rattling upon glass and hissing lullabies as I close my eyes again and then it's time to get up, find that my coffee smells of coffee, decide that I'm still probably virus free. Outside the air's carrying a chill bourne upon a north wind, the rain still pelting down, the skyline spectral, slowly solidifying as the skies fragment and lighter greys appear within the rush of lower, darker, clouds skittering upon the wind.


I attempt a walk until a cold Scottish downpour sends me scurrying back to the flat, watching and waiting restlessly as the ebb and flow of the horizon weaves itself through the window. Another pause in the rain, brighter, out again and grab a bike but ten minutes later the deluge returns as do I, bedraggled. Outside remains grim, darkness at the break of noon to continue the Dylan references from yesterday, while, failing to heed my own guidance, I flick over into the newspapers, soon wishing I hadn't bothered, more tales of incompetence and misbehaviour, the tide still rising. Here there's been a local transmission but they're unable to trace it backwards, it's a big thing but pallid to my eyes as I look west, wondering about friends, silences relegating the questions of whether there are going to be more restrictions implemented here…