WE WANTED TO SIT IN the courtyard garden of The Star at Alfriston, but the waitress explained that lunch was only available indoors:
“There’s a 60 per cent chance of rain this afternoon.”
The sky over the Cuckmere Valley was lapis lazuli, serene as a Madonna’s robe. Might we take a chance? The phone said no. When did we all become subject to this percentage rain thing?
All it means is the probability of some rainfall somewhere within a given area: reasonable enough until you look at the
