Rain poured, wind blew, the sea was doing its autumn thing:
ravaged seaweed striping the shore;
clay roiling and churning;
I went home to make holes in pots in the gathering gloom :
which made The Hole Book an apposite find. It is politically incorrect one way or other on every single page. Others might like to try it.
I owe my post title to Adrian Mitchell’s delicious poem, Not a very cheerful song I’m afraid.
Adding to the gloom, the squid remained ungrouted.