Lonesome Sea and Sky

I had an early morning phone call from Blip’s La Doyenne.  She told me she’d seen the Orkney forecast. She advised me not to go and check.  Huge grey blankets riving past, rain is washed away by rain, a tumultuous savage wind, no indication just pulls out without warning, gusty not trusty, waves smack the Flow, rain too heavy to weigh, mackerel off windscreen wipers, boiling sea, lip smacking salinity, slapping, pitching, two oceans in motion, whistling over the Hoy hills it comes, howling across the lum, sooking out the furniture, ten degrees to starboard, the sob of the cliff, rude gesticulations to the barometer, angry letter to Sean Batty, batty letter to Bracknell, obviously not Lady Bracknell, there’s no shelter, the grey day drags on.  But, in other news, it’s been very mild. 


I have to have the tea on the table in ten minutes.