When the rain comes

If I think back to the annual Easter holiday my family would take in the Lakes once we'd returned from Hong Kong, three things spring immediately to mind:

1. The year after I'd passed my driving test and we were driving from Hawkshead up to Ambleside. The road from Hawkshead finishes on a steep slope at a T junction and I brought the car to a halt and took off again without using the handbrake. (Mum: "Riding the clutch is bad for the gear box" Me: *metaphorically pulled my jumper over my head and did a victory lap of the metaphorical pitch*)

2. Driving along a lane and looking at the dry stone walls, which always remind me of Arthur Ransome's illustrations in the 'Swallows and Amazons' books, and wondering what it would be like to live there.

3. Being in the bedroom at Brown Cow Cottage in Hawkshead, overlooking the town, watching the rain pour down and being grateful that it meant we could stay in and read rather than going out for the day. 

Much as we all bitch about how much it rains in Cumbria, I must confess I love it when it rains properly, as it did, today. I had a full day in the office, catching up on bits and pieces, all the while enjoying the sound of the pouring rain against the window next to my desk.