It isn’t much fun walking under grey skies; it is less fun walking in drizzle on a grey day; and it is worse still when the drizzle turns into proper rain, as it did earlier today.

During the outward part of our walk, when it was grey but still dry, we met a lady we know on her bicycle and she stopped to pass the time of day. Noting how few people were around, we each felt that the day was ours almost exclusively, and nevertheless enjoyable to be out in, in spite of the grey, because it was fresh and dry.

“At least it isn’t raining”, we agreed, standing in our huddle.

We had reached the halfway mark, the railway bridge at Dawlish Warren, when it became chillier, for the air was damp with drizzle. We drew our shoulders up to our ears.

“Look, even the Red Rock Cafe is shut,” Chris pointed out.

“It must be bad,” I added. (The Red Rock Cafe is always open.)

“At least it isn’t raining,” we agreed again.

During our three-mile walk we met eight people only, not including the two dog-walkers (who did not acknowledge us) on the beach; and of those, six were really the same three people we had greeted twice (because they were going the opposite way on the same circuit). A half-mile before home I began to run.

“Let’s run,” I suggested.

“What for?,” Chris asked, “We’ll still be wet before we arrive home.”

“Okay,” I said, “I don’t mind anyway. I feel happy.”

“That’s just because you know that you will be in Australia in three weeks time!”

And Chris was right. I am so excited that even the English rain couldn’t  put a dampener on my good mood.

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