Gloomy weather

I've had enough of gloomy weather. For two and a half days I could manage the justification that it's good for the garden, and if we were in Africa or the south of France (remember Elva's garden?) we'd be glad. But now I've had enough. Even though English weather has always been unpredictable and provides ready conversation for us, we still somehow feel that this half of the year should provide ample opportunity for all the summer clothes we possess. I wonder if anyone else finds that their wardrobe isn't really balanced. We ought to have loads more cold weather stuff and it should be bright and cheerful. I heartily concur with Trinny and Susannah that there is far too much black walking around out there.
But my sanity is saved by the memory stick posted through the door. I have a job that I enjoy, transcribing old parish registers, the wet weather equivalent to poking around in graveyards. Amongst the baptisms of many Johns, Marys, Elizabeths and Williams, came one called Hope, daughter of Richard and Penelope. Ah, I thought, some one with imagination at last. And hey, they were gypsies. So no wonder they were colourful. I wonder if the rest of the village looked at them Askance or relished the novelty.
There is Askance in our rural backwater at the moment. Someone is terrorising one chap by daubing scarlet obscenities on his fence, and the head of the parish council has had his tyres slashed. So even a small place free of drunken students has its problems, as the sparks fly upwards.