Weather

Why do you talk about the weather so much in England? I've been asked this a few times, mainly by continental friends or west-coast Yanks.

If it was 20c every day with rain falling in April only we'd probably not discuss it. But this morning we had overnight heavy wind followed by torrential rain, hail, lightning and thunder. Now it is looking slightly sunny.

We are blessed with not living in a part of the world where the weather makes a serious annual attempt to take your life, but also where it is not so predictable as to be dull.

I think it is part of what makes us adaptable and creative as a people. And on that note I'm going to get some writing and cooking done.

Somerset. Sunday, 6.45 a.m.

Please excuse the quality of these pictures, taken on my Nokia X-6 this, and yesterday, morning but what a joy it is to walk in the early autumn Somerset countryside with a black labrador.

Abbots Pool

This is Abbot's Pool at Abbot's Leigh (yes the hymn tune is named after the place). The monks built the dam in order to have a source of fresh fish for the monastery. It is a beautiful tranquil place for a bit of a ponder. Has a certain spirit of wandering monkishness.

Exploring

We are still getting the hang of the area but have managed a couple of exploratory walks over Christmas. We walked up to Cadbury Camp, a bronze age hill fort of huge dimensions sitting pensive over the former bay just pondering where the sea went. Once upon a time it contemplated repelling attacks from the direction of the sea. Now even the sea has retreated and it welcomes guests with their thoughts, relationships and dogs. It fills you with a sense of interloping. This has been here for three thousand years. Nailsea has only really been a town for forty. We have been here for one.

Today we drove along to Sand Bay between Weston-super-Mare and Clevedon for a bracing walk along the deadly sand. Waders and gulls wander undisturbed along the sea edge knowing that any human encroaching will be sucked to their death in seconds, or so the battered signs say.

At the west end of the bay is this amazingly impressive modernist structure, a bit like a honey-coloured Hoover Building or large hotel from a more popular resort. It is a former convalescent home, built with money from Birmingham hospital charities in the 1930s, and now some sort of private hospital.

Liz felt it should be the home of a bond villain with missile silos under the ornamental pond. A place where 007 had to gate-crash by pretending he was an expert in communicable diseases and surviving the interview's trick question in order to explore at night dressed entirely in black (we know all the Bond plots by numbers). When released from the riveting confines of her work her imagination is something else.

I love it when someone goes completely over the top on great architecture in the middle of nowhere. A folly-hospital, just because they could. The sea front houses along the rest of the bay, many with their seasonal, so currently closed, tea rooms were singularly depressing.

The joys of living along the Bristol Channel will take some while longer to fully appreciate.

Squirrels

There is an old joke in Christian circles, which ought to be banned through overuse but some speakers still use it without shame. If anyone in their congregation laughs it is out of sympathy not hilarity.

Minister goes into Sunday School and asks the children, 'What's grey, has a big bushy tail and gathers nuts to eat?'

Kid says, 'Well I know the answer should be Jesus but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me.'

Ever since then I have called those questions we ask with an obvious answer, 'squirrel' questions.

Last night at the pub quiz the question came up, 'In which county was Cheddar cheese first produced?' International readers need to know that Cheddar is just down the road, in this county, in which I sit and type. It is as famous for its local cheese as, say Brie or Stilton.

So it was real funny to hear snatches of conversation from around the pub going, 'It can't be Somerset; it's far too obvious.'

It was a squirrel. You need more than brains to win the pub quiz.

Tribute Bands

The evening reception entertainment at today's wedding will be provided by a Wurzels tribute band the Mangled Wurzels. I have so arrived in Somerset.

Real Somerset

I appear to have become a real yokel by attending (and enjoying) the North Somerset Show yesterday. Particular highlights were:

• People watching. The different country 'groupings' were fascinating, from the people who never go out without a tie to those who were leading animals round whilst wearing all white but covered in muck (the people not the animals).
• Tractor pulling. A tractor with a 40 litre engine, one with a Spitfire engine and one with a tank engine. Tractors with roll bars anyone? They were there.
• Junk food. Everywhere. What happened to the real stuff?
• Terrier racing. Easily confused, terriers.

Resisted buying a bird box with a spycam (£99).