The evening fog comes gently rolling in across the Fenland showing the landscape at its mysterious and atmospheric best. Strangely by ten o'clock, when the two terriers were turfed out for their pee the fog had cleared but by the time the sun was crawling up in the dawn sky it was slowly returning. Predictably by eight o'clock the visibility had dropped to about fifty yards and it was still closing in. What do the weather forecasters know with their computerised maps and gizmos? Not a lot, it wasn't even mentioned in their forecast.