In the land of the setting sun

So just after we'd sent out the warning notices to folk warning them about the low water levels and telling them it had been the driest spring since 1929 (which it has) the good old British summer decides to revert to form.

But there's something about holidays in North Wales and the weather.  It only seems right, really, that showers, wind, hail, fog and the odd volcanic eruption should enter - stage L - to play their part in making the holiday challenging. Which is, after all, the way most UK families view their annual expeditions, anyway.

It's all very well popping off to the costa del sherry and  being done to a turn on the oceanic spit that qualifies as the hotel beach, but where's the challenge, where's the thrill in timing your post-breakfast dash for the car precisely to avoid the thunderous downpour that emerged, from a hitherto unblemished blue yonder, to attempt a rapid submersion of the youngest?  It's staying one jump ahead of the iniquitous grey drizzle that adds that something special to the average UK holiday and provides such a sense of achievement when the family, having weaved their wind-blown, drenched ways around storm showers, mini hurricanes, low clouds and tsunamis, each competing for a place in the Guinness record book under the 'biblical deluges' section, finally make it back to the hotel, having walked the two miles from where they'd had to park the car and crash onto the beds in their warm, dry bedrooms  while they watch the sun finally emerge and bathe their rain-sodden hairlines in lambent glory.

More tea, anyone?