Whoever composed the ditty about rowing your boat gently down the stream has never attended the Black River Regatta. There is nothing gentle about a rowing regatta in my, rather limited, experience.

Alex was so pleased that I had offered to come and cheer him on in the race that I hadn’t the heart to bail on him when the weather forecast looked grim for last Sunday. I got up early to cycle over. I might not be rowing, but at least I’d get some exercise. After pulling on my favourite blue hoodie I yanked open the curtains to reveal an absolute downpour.

I’ve heard rumours that sometimes, in other countries, there are rain storms of a brief nature. Vivaldi wrote some music about a sudden summer storm in Italy and in India the monsoons are torrents but they don’t last forever. This...

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