An incident occurred while we were away on the Isle of Wight recently that brought home to me the British stoicism in the face of adversity.
One night at the weekend we had the mother of all storms raging for a good few hours. The rain was torrential, and the wind screamed and whistled and brought down a blanket of leaves and twigs onto the decking. We heard on the news the following morning that there had been over 500 flashes of lightning during the night. Our holiday home was thankfully spared though, as it seems quite sturdily built with an added bonus of double glazing and central heating.
A little way away down towards the beach was a field of colourful tents containing perhaps about 200 campers. The field had been full when we had walked through it the previous day, and Sam and I both wondered how they had all fared during the storm. The next…
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