The young lady from what the Goons used to call The Terror Stricken Service of the BBC positively drooled last night as she was arranging the weather for the week. Awful on Monday, terrible Tuesday, woeful Wednesday and then down hill winter Olympics like for the rest of the week. Cold, snow, hail (Hail was strongly emphasised) -the sort of conditions which would have prompted Captain Oates to have said' I am not going out for a very long time and certainly not until the hail has stopped'
Anyhow I must take my hat off to the Blether Centre-once I am safely inside of course. The intense young women indicated the rain starting mid morning in Berwickshire with one of those glittering stripey,village hall roof blue graphics poised threateningly over Duns. Mid morning in Duns is 10-30. I finished my golf at 10-20 (yes good round, thanks for asking only slightly spoiled by hearing the LMD at full volume 5 fairways away-he may have lost his last/only ball, it wasn't clear) Doing a chore for the wife in the market square I emerged ruffled but successful from the Coop. Something landed on my head. I looked up and a large hailstone bounced off my forehead. I looked at my watch.it was 10.30.