Today

Paul's been worrying about the weather all week. This is because on Sunday it's the Mendip Classic Car Run and we're taking the Bentley out for a spin. Last year the weather was beautiful and we had a lovely picnic and enjoyed the final line-up in the evening sun on Wells Cathderal Green.

Frankly, it's chilly. The mornings are frosty and out of the sun you need to keep moving to keep warm. And we can't change it. So I plan to enjoy myself whatever.

I don't worry too much about the weather; it's one of the delights of living in England, after all.

Paul is convinced that the weather was better when he was young, which isn't terribly original.

In My Day

I simply don't have the gene that makes one think that the Summers were always lovely when one was a child. One thing I was rather good at was juggling with 2 or 3 balls against a wall (OK, mainly with 2). I often would go outside early on a sunny Summer morning and practice. I can remember how the first clouds would appear by 8 o'clock, and how the day would become overcast, even rainy by 10. I learnt to mistrust those super-bright 6 ams.

There were Summers when it seemed to rain every day. Winters rarely offered us much in the way of snow.

We did have days when we played under the garden hose, it was so hot. But then those days happen now (look at 2003!). I found my diary entry for the week at Challaborough Bay in Devon in 1957 - we had one nice day - every other day there was rain. And we were in a caravan (rented and 6 berth, but still a squish. And I managed to burn in that one day!

On Sunday, it'll be cardies, then. And the Bentley has picnic tables so we can munch under cover.