What do you do when it won't stop raining? Lesley got me thinking about it. Do we skulk indoors? No. I mean as Scots we should be used to the inclemency factor. We were brought up to scoff at umbrellas. I have to mention a present that my Dad bought me for one of my birthday's. I was about five years old and he came back from Thurso – where he was away working at Douneray "nucular" power station – and he presented me with a little yellow bag with a matching umbrella and on the handle was a smiling little fox. I loved it. It was about the best present that I ever had. But even allowing for that I could never bring myself to use it because it made me feel like a freak. Nobody, and I mean nobody in my memory used one. That was for city folks. The only concession made to the dreech drizzle or the 45 degree sheets of leaden rain were those transparent, little foldaway plastic scarves that made old ladies heads look like supermarket shrink wrapped chicken. And children and rollicking fishermen had oilskins. I can still feel the cold, clamminess of an oilskin over a t-shirt. The rivers of condensation and the oilskin hat that would channel the rain – very carefully, so as not to spill a drop – right down the back of my neck. I lived with it because it was red and shiny. The oilskin that is. Although my neck probably was too given the oilskin's chaffing plastic collar. You could have sliced cheese with that. And we were born with welly boots already on. Rain or shine was welly boot time. Acceptable dress even to a party as you may note from the picture above. Anyway, Lezzles, you big sissy we played outside when it rained and if it got a little too persistent we huddled under an up-turned boat and played housey.