Patina

Today's image for some reason reminds me of the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, a swirling storm in the planet's atmosphere that's been raging for at least 340 years. So why am I'm sitting here getting fed up because it's been a bit cold and dull for the last month?

It's difficult to maintain an air of bonhomie in adverse weather; I've been in the south of France when the Mistral’s been blowing and I can see why it can drive people insane after a few days. Still whingeing about the weather is part of what makes us tick. It's the perfect accompaniment to the word 'too' - too wet, too dry, too hot, too cold, too sticky.

Then, once in a while, the perfect day comes along and what happens? We become beset by doubts and portents - how long's this going to last? I bet it'll be raining by the weekend. To take advantage of our good fortune we go away for a few days. Then it's: I hope my neighbour has remembered to water my hanging baskets; I should have cut that tree down; I wonder if my paddling pool is insured? Did I leave enough lettuce for the tortoise, and so on? There is nothing better than having something to worry about when on holiday. And that's before we start fretting about whether we've turned off the cooker/central heating/water/rodent repeller.

This plank of oak could well be as old as that storm judging by its patina of age. Countless hands have caressed its surface and, by the look of it, a few worms have been inside for a small feast before flying off to pastures new.