We’ve had some rotten weather recently, rain-grey clouds rolling over us like dismal tumbleweed, so this resonates.
‘There was a distant rumbling, and then a sudden crash, followed by a clattering as if an iron tea-tray ten miles wide was tumbling down a stone staircase big enough to match it.’
Source: Arthur Ransome, Coot Club (London: Jonathan Cape, 2009 (1934)), p. 282