Occasionally the quiet tranquility of our winter sun idyll can be interrupted by a hot wind straight from the Sahara often laden with the finest sand. It has once or twice gone so high as to come down eventually on our Yorkshire streets, coating cars and benches with dust.
There is our connection with home, the same desert sand covering us here and there. There is wind today but no sand. The view from just below our apartment is inspiring, England are playing good rugby and there is a new restaurant beckoning.
I read this and look out of my window in Derbyshire and it’s snowing.