Shapes

The reason the British speak constantly about the weather is because it's ridiculously changeable.
After a fortnight of high temperatures, the weather at the start of the school holidays is wet and dreich

As I sit here looking out of the window waiting for blog inspiration, there is a smirr of rain like a veil sweeping over the Meadows, the reddish hue of the cherry trees with buds about to open, looking more pronounced than ever through this wet greyness.
Can I believe that there is sleet on the way tomorrow? With a drop in temperatures of 20 degrees almost overnight, there is an endless possibility for topics of conversation.

There are no tarrying picnickers on the grass today, only hurrying people on the paths, bent into umbrellas, and wet dogs intent on running after soggy balls, while their owners beat as hasty a retreat as possible to the dryness of their homes.

Unfortunately, I have drawn the short straw this Monday, and it is my turn to visit my friend o.m.t's.
The demolition of the nearby gate into the Meadows is almost complete but the gap has been secured by a fence, so that there is no quick exit for me across the wet grass to Marchmont.

I expect it won't seem as bad once I'm out, as it is from the comfort of the house.