dricht

'Dricht' is a hard word to explain, but if you're on your way home from a day out in North Northumberland and you can't see the drizzle ahead of you for the fog six inches in front, then it's dricht.  Fortunately, as we've just spent four days with my sister and brother-in-law, we were soon out of the dricht and into their snug stone cottage with log fires, hot coffee and two cats.

Yes, we have finally met the two ample cats.  They have slimmed down since Christmas, when they first arrived, but they are still very considerable cats.  Harvey sprawls across his Mum's lap to have his tummy tickled, and I've never before see a cat do that, have you?

Mercy, we thought last weekend was wet.  It was like driving home through a monsoon.  Camping and caravan sites in South Wales (where Daughter lives) and Cornwall (where the Sunshines spent their holiday a week or so ago) are flooded.  Any overseas readers planning a trip to UK in the coming week, bring a brolly.  If this goes on, I'm going to buy one for Much.

You need welly boots, too.  I'd lend you mine, but they've started to let in water.  I discovered that this morning, when my sister and I decided to wade across the stream...