Today Pluvialis and Madame O and The Poet and I went to Thetford forest for a walk. We managed to show up a little before the biblical deluge and greet two dogs emerging from the next car over who could read my mind and were as hysterical with outside-outside-OUTSIDE! delight. I stomped about soaking up coniferous air and sandy, chalky mud and tufty, wind-blasted grassy bits and soft, ear-muffled pine-needled undercanopy and watched a crossbill shout from the top of a thrashing tree holding on for dear life.
It was over too soon and the rain tipped down and lo, lunch was average if a little redeemed by a very fine golfball of fluffy donut with salted caramel sauce and then we slished back down the A14 in the spattering wakes of Transit vans to our houses, hatches to batten.