It's chilly, windy, and rainy in London. The daffodils in Regents Park are coming into bloom, but that's small consolation when the sky insists on slate-grey every hour of the day and double-decker buses are drowning in puddles on Baker Street, never to be seen again. I badly need time with sun, sand, and surf. Camus said "No man makes a failure of his life if he lives in the sunlight." Where does that leave me?