'There's no such thing as bad weather only bad clothing.' (Trust the Norwegians to coin such a phrase.) Most of us got it right for a pre-breakfast walk in the drizzle along the cliff path. But someone decided that to save on washing (eight days in our delightful rural siberia sans electricity, sans water even that didn't have to be pumped out of the rainwater tank by hand) he'd dispense with one of his precious pairs of trousers. We decided later that it was just as well that my small grandson hadn't gone out alone with his grandfather, yikes. (I've illustrated his shorts just to prove he was wearing some.)
Young Storm, appropriately named for the abysmal weather that luckily didn't coincide with our arrival but kept us housebound playing SNAP the second day, became the most elegant person on this stretch of National Trust coastline. Being a bit chesty, we fashioned a blue and white silk spotted scarf of mine into a cravat for him and he was quite oblivious of looking like Cary Grant.
The next day I set off for a little painting en plein air.
Ah but the next day dawned fine and clear and Olivia woke early. This was partly because she had retired at nine fed up with listening to Radio 4 in the guttering candlelight, partly because she had to share the other double bed with a restless Storm who was kicking her tummy. Dressed casually for the weather then, she wandered out onto the cliff with her large Canon to capture the dawn. Imagine the surprise of a keep-fit fanatic on his wordless encounter with a tousle-haired seven-month pregnant woman in a nightdress apparently waiting to take his picture at 6 am. I suppose it gave him something to think about on his long run home.
Actually, we had a spiffing time all in all.
Images © Rosie West