Driven by the wind, the clouds draw in, shrouding the town. The rain splashes up against the side of the market stalls. Awnings bulge under the weight of water. Feet wet and trousers soaking, the store-holders still manage to smile. Last minute presents, a book to read by the fire. Passers-by scurry to and fro, filling their store-cupboards for the coming feast. The smell of fresh bread is carried on the wind, drawing us into the shelter. Warm, crusty loaves. Just the thing for a wet winter’s day.