One February, back in my days behind the camera, I drove down to Pembrokeshire (south west Wales) to get some coastal shots from the cliffs. The weather forecast had been good, but it was wrong. The light was flat and grey, and there was a cold gale blowing off the Irish Sea. I took a few nondescript shots for the sake of it, more to relieve the boredom than anything else. This is one:
When bed time arrived, Brunhilde and I parted company. I intended to have a shower before turning in, but found that the washroom was a corrugated iron annexe to the main building. It was unheated and there was no hot water. I washed my hands and face instead. Hurriedly.
The dormitory was unheated, too, but since I was the only person in there, I felt justified in borrowing several blankets from adjacent beds and turned into a caterpillar for the night. The wind moaned mercilessly, but it didn’t stop me sleeping. I vaguely remember feeling relieved that Brunhilde hadn’t made any improper advances.
This looks like her:
A few days later I came down with a heavy cold which took weeks to clear. Did I say that February is a long month? February is a long month.