Peace. Frigid.

It's Easter weekend and I go camping. That's one of life's dogmas I'm afraid and I care not how cold or rainy or windy or Tory it all is.

I. Go. Camping.

So it is that I find myself in Llanidloes under nylon and after Grayling. In truth I'm just trying to rediscover how to flyfish after some dismal recent efforts.

It ain't that cold anyway. What's a gentle North-Easterly between friends when one has a radiator like this?