A line of four girls walking abreast, their green blazers wrapped backwards around their shoulders to keep out the blustery head-wind. Everything looks softer today. The hard-edged housing blocks blend more into the surrounding trees, and the rain casts a softness into the greens of the grass and the brackens. The distant peaks merge with the clouds into one magnificent grey and fierce landscape, and a strong half-rainbow arches to my right.
I yearn to climb the peaks, or to feel the deck of the yacht which is rounding the headland. A splash of white light from the still-hidden sun creates a fairy-tale backdrop over the sea. They might as well both be in that fairy tale for all the hope I have of seeing either closer up.
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Now I am stuck in a fencing hall having nearly been involved in some sort of a row. I have the magnificent sound of "Lacrimosa dies illa" and I am trying to calm down and read some technical material.
