There I was, up before the dawn, kettle on and the day looked quite promising. There was a little bit of mist in air but nothing that looked like it would develop into any thing too severe, but had I looked carefully over the conifers I would have seen the fog rolling towards the house.
Before you had chance to realise what was happening it was fog in the Nissen Hut, fog in the dykes, fog in the poplars and fog in the orchards to paraphrase Charles Dickens' opening lines in Bleak House.
Certainly not the kind of weather you would want to meet on the motorway.
We love a good fog for the atmosphere and the silence it creates, the way it changes everything around you. You can hear the rooks but you can't see them, water drips and it's not raining and if there is such a thing as a Victorian atmosphere, this is it, all that's missing is the gaslight.
Now, where are those terriers.