I WRITE in my office, a log cabin in dense jungle by the beach, away from the tyranny of domestic emergencies. In July, it is covered by bright white tresses of rambling rose and the surrounding trees are ringing with thrushes, complementing the gentle piping of the oystercatchers. It is a satisfactory arrangement, although it sometimes means getting wet on my way to work.
Today was a sprint through biblical rain and I am sitting in damp clothes. Whether it is