When I was a child, my Dad, having grown up in the contryside, was good a reading the signs of the weather.  It was from him I learned the colour of snow clouds, the smell of incoming rain, and even how to check the wind direction with a wet finger.

When he died, my Mum asserted that he was now employed as 'Clerk of the Weathers' and, to be fair, important family events have, so far as I can recall, had good weather.  Even the day of my Mum's funeral where the morning was wet and forecast grim, dried and brightened up in good time for the service, and at the 'do' several relatives stood outside in afternoon sunshine.

All of which has caused me gentle amusement now that storm Diana has now arrived in the UK.  Why? My Mum was Diana, and it amuses me to imagine the two of them in cahoots redirecting the wind and rain to engineer this.  Of course I don't actually believe this is the cause, but just because something isn't fact doesn't mean it isn't true, if I may misquote a song about bumble bees and their impossible ability to fly.