Days like these

You’re brave,’ says the grey-haired man behind the counter, gesturing to the bleak scene on the other side of the shop window.

‘Brave or stupid,’ I reply, water rapidly pooling at my feet as I stand shivering, waiting for my change. ‘Well, that was my first thought,’ he says, ‘only I didn’t want to offend you.’ With that he passes me the washing up gloves and wishes me luck.

I pause at the door, reluctant to leave the warmth of the shop behind but ultimately knowing I have little choice but to brave the storm once again. At least now my hands will be dry, I tell myself as I pull on the bright yellow Marigolds, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. It’s not quite how I had imagined events to unfold when planning this trip.

Water, water everywhere

While packing I’d convinced myself I wouldn’t need waterproof gloves at this time of year, reasoning that at worst there would be a few showers along the way, and thus