Peter Rhodes on listening for whales, dressing for the studio and the joy of rain
My rainfall diary: MONDAY: Oh blessed, blessed rain. At long last the heavens open, the thunder roars and the earth echoes to the sweet drumming of the precious precipitation. The air reeks of fertile freshness, the meadows gratefully gulp. The long-dry rivulets fill and drain into the brooks and rivers. We stand outside, ecstatic and astonished in the drenching downpours, mouths open, drinking the raindrops, celebrating the triumph of life over death, rejoicing in the swelling rebirth of our parched land. TUESDAY: Still bloody raining.
