I scrounged a lift to Redcar, as I walked to the town centre the weather changed from bright sunshine to driving rain and hailstones.
I sheltered beneath a shop’s awning, an old fella sheltering next to me told me that he had burned his forearms sunbathing in Marske this morning.
The rain subsided and the sun broke through, I walked home along the beach watching offshore squalls blowing across the Tees bay.
I left the beach and walked along the footpath to Windy Hill Lane, the heavens opened. I arrived home soaked to the skin, elated.
Squalls – From the Middle English squalen (not recorded) and squalen (“to cry, scream, squall”), from Old Norse skvala (“to cry out”), probably ultimately imitative with influence from squeal and bawl.
Cognate with Swedish skvala (“to gush, pour down”), Norwegian skval (“sudden rush of water”). The noun is probably from the verb. Source
The Smell of Water 
This morning i watched them bring the showers of rain down the wharfe valley, then in the afternoon they did the same in Nidderdale. I had to hunker down in a grouse butt on Dallow Moor at one point when it was hail stoning. – marvelous!
I’ve added an account of my journey, similar to yours, in the post. I guess we’ve both hunkered down in a few grouse butts in our time G. A curse and a blessing.
Super photographs, strip Fenland into the area of sea and you’d see what it was like in Norfolk. Stay safe, ATB, John
Fabulous pictures, wish I was there getting wet on the beach!