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

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