"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men,
Gang aft agley" 

So wrote Robert Burns in his poem To a Mouse; an apology for upturning its nest whilst ploughing a field. 

I am in the Alps this week and I feel like the weather in the last few days is Burns' plough and we; the mice. Our plans have certainly gone awry, although no apology has yet been forthcoming. It is often true that time spent in the mountains feels as if it is snatched from the gods that govern the wilderness. We choose our moment ahead of time and then sit tight hoping above all hope that we shall be blessed with the conditions to enjoy nature in all its sunny glory.