Baby it's cold outside and it's bloody raining again!

So it maybe, but I'm as warm as a warm thing in here... and it's a good job because today I nearly died of hypothermia (again).
Took myself on my first Artists Date, that is, a date with my inner child whom I am now supposed to be nurturing. Julia Cameron recommends one a week but I can't say that this was a complete success. On the coldest, rainiest day of the month I trotted off to Penzance on the slowest train in the land with notebook in hand. It went something like this....

Have lost ability to stand up on a train, must have mislaid this skill somewhere in 1980 which is possibly the last time I had to a) stand up on public transport and b) had to write whilst on the move - think I was writing a shopping list at the time.
Penzance is grey, greyer than grey. I am blind with seaspray and I've only been here for five minutes. Rain hasn't stopped, it thunders on bus shelter roof that holds me captive. The odd, very odd, person has scuttled by, clutching at bits of themselves in a vain attempt to keep their pants dry. Hah! No such luck.
Have pathological hatred of being cold and wet. Text the MD (main driver) who sympathises from smug sofa in front of roaring radiator.
Thought this was supposed to be good for you, thought inspirements (not a word but I like it) would come leaping from all angles. Must leave shelter and find muse.
Notebook soaked. Return pronto to shelter where I am confronted by woman in sensible mackintosh, loud scarf and a dog that resembles a smallish pig.

'Awful weather.'

Understatement.

'On holiday then?'

Hardly.

'Must go.'

Thank God.

Where are my interesting characters? I am a dating failure. Next train leaves in fifteen minutes and I will be on it.
Hope springs in the far distance. Hold inadequate coat about me whilst I stumble off in the direction of a warm and loving memory. Lose notebook in well placed puddle, cross the road when I shouldn't, but make to the Little Shop of Joy and make my purchase.
All is not lost. On the train home I am transported to the land of Summer Love with my pot of stuffed olives and dreams of a large glass of chilled, fruity Pims - had almost forgotten why I live here.

Off to Eden tomorrow - my, my, aren't we just the travellin' type - will report as necessary.