Last weekend we decided a picnic would be in order on Sunday. We got up to grey skies and a light drizzle and both felt thoroughly depressed. We had the 'what do you want to do?' conversation where you're not sure if each other is answering honestly so are both trying to second guess what is really meant. (We rarely have conversations of this kind thankfully). We ended up bravely trusting in the weather forecast which said skies in Kent would be clear. Our original plan of Broadstairs (childhood holidays, home to Dicken's Bleak House and wonderful Italian ice cream) changed to the nearer Whitstable (world-famous for its oysters) just in case the weather man was wrong.
The weather forecast was wrong. The skies weren't just clear. They were a glorious blue and the sun was merrily shining on us all. Coats discarded, we sat and ate out picnic on the beach in shirt-sleeves. It was truly wonderful.