Drought! I hear the fellow Cornwall dwellers cry, as another mizzly June afternoon draws to a close. Drought! Our water butts are full and our jackets are steaming on the radiators.
Whilst the rest of the country laments their empty reservoirs, we are suffering a dearth of decent surf.
How cruel to tantalise us with a spring of sun, swell and favourable wind directions. How delighted we were, perhaps a promise of springs to come?
No, we have been misled by the weather gods, delivered a June with the grubby finger prints of climate change all over its dank afternoons. My previous praise for our modest, Cornish paradise is now retracted.
This is dangerous territory. A bank account cleansed by extended bank holidays and family weddings may take further strain. Fingers are getting trigger happy as they stroll with the mouse over pages of foreign shores. Ferries to France? A flight to Spain? A fantasy of warmer water and cleaner waves could be swiftly gratified within a few clicks.
Or do we hold firm. Stiff upper lips, grin and bear it. Excel at surfing a swirling grey and white mushy mess, whipped up by a westerly wind.
At least it’s not flat some say, take up kiting say the rest.