A short, sharp rainstorm moving rapidly across the lonely fen, heavy rain that is here one minute and gone the next, but it barely dampens the freshly turned fields. In the distance, bigger than a large house, is a stack of straw bales from the harvest, but it is dwarfed by the vastness of the empty landscape.
On this particular late afternoon we were surrounded by storms and squalls like this but never used our wipers even once, always driving on dry roads as we returned to West Norfolk from a visit to a picture framer who is based in Cambridgeshire.
Up in the turret the boss was delighted that we missed the storms.