I thought that I would inspect the lambs’ lettuce I had planted a few weeks ago. The earthenware pot was overflowing. So much for home grown five-a-day. Oh well, it wasn’t the weather for salad, I consoled myself. I had to put the central heating on.
There was nothing on telly, but Michael Portillo, clutching his Bradshaw, eating whelks in Whitstable and avoiding salmonella. Next was Neil Oliver hanging out of a steam train which was chugging its way round Corfe Castle. The cameraman had chosen a very forgiving angle so that Neil could let his hair stream out of the window. He then went on to play a lead role in The Tempest at the Minack Theatre, upstaging Kenneth Branagh, as it turned out:
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me…
He should and could have been Caliban. And there was the great British public, draped in Gore-tex in that curious collective, masochistic death wish to acquire pneumonia, vaccine availability or not. That Nick Crane has the weather down to a fine art. You don’t see him setting forth without his brolly being stuffed into his haversack. Bet his Mum is pleased. She probably checks that he is wearing a vest and has a clean handkerchief.
Portillo doesn’t seem to carry anything, not even a poncho, which is what the partly Spanish would probably prefer. He probably relies on the rain being mainly on the plain, not the train.
© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012