The jetfighter wind roars across the sky.
This isn't what I was going to write about today, but I've just returned from a long tramp across squelchy, slippery fields with the-dog-of-small-brain, who, for the umpteenth day running, has had to bear the canine indignity of yet another bath to wash off all the mud. It's wild outside today; what a joy to take off my hat and let the wind whip my hair, and the rain splatter my un-made-up face. Plastered in mud, and with waterproofs swishing, I could have walked for miles further, had it not gone dark.
The sound of the wind blowing was so impressive, I don't think this little stone does it justice; it was louder than the Eurofighters yesterday, who thundered through my peace on a training flight. I was sorry to arrive back in the quiet of home. But not as sorry as one small, but no longer muddy, dog!