Summer in England is pretty fickle. It's not like summer in Scotland, when, if it happens at all, its more of a special treat – a bonus that you get if you've behaved for the rest of the year. In England, summer is expected to happen, and then it does – and then it disappears – and then it comes back again.
I read a tweet from someone in London this weekend that said something like: 'Went to buy picnic supplies, now trapped in shop by monsoon rainstorm', which is quite a good summation of the whole concept of summer in England I think.
I spent the last week in Ben's hometown, a little place on the English/Welsh border. As you would expect, the rain poured, the sun blazed, and I wandered around photographing things, as I do. Drippy roses, drying wood, damp church walls. It's almost like we get this kind of weather to make everything seem just a little bit prettier when the sun does eventually turn up.