Fecking weather. I'm sick of looking out the window and seeing rain, I'm sick of seeing the North of England rowing boats through the streets and I'm sick of all the breaks in play at Wimbledon, means there's a chance it'll go on a minute longer than it has to. Can you remember when the women tennis players looked like women? There's that famous photo of the foxy chick with her back to you, just about to serve and before she does she inches up her short tennis dress exposing a peach like cheek. Lest we forget in this world of angular female jaw lines and body builder pecs, I've grabbed a copy of it and pasted it below.

A real woman, not one of these nambypamby, eastern bloc supapovanova's!

There was a plan for tonight. I was going to nip up to Pete's and pick some stuff up then I was going to head for a few hours down at Trimingham meeting Genocide and Lucky there with Nobby popping down to see us. I need a new name for Lucky as he had a decent winter, perhaps the leg end should now be called Lucky, he had a really average winter and a much worse summer so far. "Really average" is me being polite, the guy's had a feckin mare.

Anyway I'd be there for around 1930 with high water about 2330, I had a few small fresh crabs, some frozen crabs, sand eels and blacks. It was dry at Bacton as I set off for Pete's, Karl rang to say him and Johnny were giving it a miss as it was bucketing down there and heading my way. Sod it I thought I'll just go locally and headed off to Mundesley. I rang Pete to tell him I wouldn't be up and he said it was pouring there as well, no sooner had he hung up and the heavens opened! The look on Mrs Aitch's face when I turned up back at home! There was always the option of going for a walk and a fluff chuck on the shingle, they've been getting a few, but the thought of a warm bed, cold woman and a Stella swung it..