The sky is funereal. Growls of thunder rumble yonder and creep closer. lightning flashes burn the sky magnesium white. Rabbits hide in their burrows; ants delve deep into their nests; birds seek out what little vegetation there is in this semi-desert umber land; spiders join woodlice and scorpions under rocks. It is almost the end of May, and here in this part of Andalusia, it had not rained since November. But now it begins . . . it’s what the weather forecasters declare is ‘heavy intensity rain’; it hammers on the polycarbonate roof sheets; it swamps the concave recesses of the old Spanish roof tiles that I cannot afford to replace; it overflows and spills out of plastic guttering, violently splashes down and adds to the pooled flood outside the conservatory door. There is no let-up . . . no end in sight. Then the electrics go. I stumble back into the Dark Ages, light candles and take a torch to bed. Apparently the torrential rain, thunder and lightning continues all night, but two large glasses of rum and a sleeping pill mean that I sleep through it all.