It had rained for three days without a break. Being inside the caravan was like sitting inside a snare drum and he was reasonably sure he had tinnitus.
He looked out of the window and wondered if it was ever going to stop. He needed to go to the campsite shop for milk and bread and he couldn't wait forever.
He pulled on his boots and zipped up his waterproof jacket - not that it would be effective against this volume of rain.
He opened the door and pulled his hood up.
As soon as he stepped down from the caravan, he slipped. He hadn't noticed that water was now running there at great speed, the price of being on a hill during a perpetual rainstorm. He fell and hit his head, knocking himself out.
The water carried him to a nearby beck, which fed into a river, which led to the North Sea.
His body was found by a fishing boat in the Atlantic a week later.
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