Damp, damp, damp

When we lived  in North Wales, there was a year when it rained every day for six months (it was 1993, the year of the Llandudno flood) and it's starting to feel like that this summer. It gets to the point where all you expect is rain, and a sunny day would come as something alien. At least it's warm, I suppose, though by evening, it's starting to feel so clammy that we lit the fire last night.

Sally's been with us today, and the rain held off for long enough that we got a run in the fields first thing, where she met up with old friends Katie and Charlie, and a new member of the Mercia dog pack, Brock. After much charging about, we were all able to amble back to our boats, and Sal has been largely stacking the zeds ever since.

We managed a walk round the marina this afternoon, too, without getting too soaked; Sheila has joined a volunteer group weeding and replanting stuff in the Butterfly Drift near the Shakespeare hire boat pontoon.

Tomorrow, we plan to hop on the bus into Derby; there's a bit of retail therapy to do, not least because the other day I roasted a chicken with a marinade of paprika, garlic and lemon juice and it seems to have stripped some of the non-stick coating off my roasting tin.

/floor

It's a bit alarming, come to think of it; if it does that to Teflon, what's it doing to our internal arrangements?

/hmm