I dream back to a hallowed day on the North Cornwall coast, heading towards Tintagel, Boscastle and - most important of all - St Joliet, where Thomas Hardy met the wild sister-in-law of the local vicar, ravishing as she was in her original air-blue gown. And down in the sea, half a mile from the shore, was the base of a rainbow. Not when Tommy H was there. When I was.
A strange site, just the part of the rainbow where it hit the sea. A many-coloured glowing over the sea surface. Like Lyonesse was having a street party.
And the thing is, I know the physics. I know it's all about refraction and reflection, and it could only have happened with the sun behind me yada yada yada. It's all great and it's all scientific and it's good and predictable and - don't you think a rainbow in the sea off Cornwall shouts "sunken city of the Little People" at you? Doesn't it make you want to go "God, you ride on the waves and your glory is so great that, frankly, it would only take the inclusion of octarine to make my life complete"?
Or is that just me?