The wind is rattling the slates, there’s rippling along the roof from one end to the other with every strong gust, like tombstones doing a Mexican wave.
The rain is incessant, the council Christmas tree is lurching like a drunken man trying to climb onto a high kerb without dropping the filling out of his kebab.
The snow covering has suffered. Just in time for Christmas.
You can’t waste even half a chance these days.
