Which was between storms. Gareth had receded, blowing away the blustery rain showers that shook catkins from trees and plastered them like roadkill on country lanes.
So instead of my usual leisurely lunchtime stroll or hurried circuit sandwiched between sandwiches eaten al-desko and the first meeting of the afternoon, this was a dash from desk to field and back. It was bitterly cold, and when it’s like this the chemicals in the pack film react – sometimes the sky develops and angry purple hue, but this time it was pale. So it might be hard to see the puddles on the flagstones, or rain in the leaden sky, but it’s all there if you look closely enough.