Drought declared in Manchester, home of the perpetual rain. Mancunians shake their heads in astonishment.
Gardens are parched dry. Budgeons run out of bottled water. Tankers from Scotland are being hijacked and their precious loads sold on the black market to thirsty southerners.
As dusk falls, I stare hopefully at darkening clouds. I go into the garden and look up. They appear to be rain clouds ...
with musical accompaniment from the Woodford Warbler.