7am hailstorm Plymouth; earthquake Chile. Little Sainsbury’s carpark 5 o’clock, prickly moist air, smeary sky, the sun a fizzing lemon bonbon dissolving into a bowl of grey suds. After shopping, grey-green stippled waves flicked inches below Phoenix Quay, and at the southern edge of the Sound huge rolls of white water poured over the breakwater towards us. As the sun sank, the fuzzy white disc of the almost-full moon rose up at the other end of the seesaw. By the time we got home the mist had curdled and floated the moon in a ring of mossy filaments. Two male frogs sitting in the darkness at opposite corners of the pond, their heads out of the water.