I would like to tell you about the pool today, a brilliant blue under a sky that kept tightening like a jacket collar turned up, a sky crossing and uncrossing its legs in nervous preparation. I could say that and mention the sky but this will unfurl into talk of the sky, the storm. The clatter of thunder a dozen frustrated angels slamming their boots in a B&Q carpark on a sunny bank holiday afternoon. That is what we sit beneath now. Our red rope light frames a green-black sky and we sit with our chins poised and wait for explosions.