Gloomy skies and the sound of rain pattering on the roof above my study like the feet of flocks of house-martins or starlings that sometimes gather there before their mass migrations to chase the sunshine. Even Kitcat, my meteorological feline has decided to give up waiting for that mythological sun and chosen to perch on top of the bookcase.
By contrast, last night’s vivid dream was of sunshine and a group of smiling people dressed in the casual clothes of the late forties because both men and women were wearing the kinds of hats and clothes worn for relaxation among my parents’ generation, fashionable then, but a lot more formal than today’s standards. There was no car in sight, but they must have travelled in one because they appeared to be grouped on a headland that used to be a favourite grass-covered area for walking along the grassland above Rest Bay, somewhere in the vicinity of the Seabank Hotel at Porthcawl in South Wales. All a long time ago, but dreams can lift you into strange places where time seems not to matter.