The Orionid meteor shower peaks overnight on 21 to 22 October. It is debris from Halley’s Comet, best viewed after 2am, away from lights. Between you and it sits one enormous stratus cloud, which has been over the country since September. We spoke to it in a lay-by outside Rotherham, from underneath.

You have been here for about six weeks. Any plans to move?

I’ve got a lot on.

Such as?

Drizzle. Some mizzle. That thing where it isn’t technically raining but everything is wet anyway. It’s a full diary.

The Orionids are the remains of Halley’s Comet.

Lovely. Not really a space person.

Up to twenty meteors an hour, apparently.

Sounds lovely. Do send pictures.

That is the thing. There won’t be any pictures.

Well, then.

Gillian Marsh, 63, a retired quantity surveyor from Stockport, has stood in her garden for the last eleven Orionids. She says she has seen one bat and her neighbour in his pants.

“I take a flask and a folding chair. I wear my husband’s dressing gown. By 4am it’s soaked through and I’ve learned nothing about the cosmos.” Gillian Marsh, retired quantity surveyor

She did that to herself.

That seems harsh.

Nobody asked her to go out. I didn’t put the dressing gown on her. I just arrived and stayed. Different thing.

Dr Alan Whitcombe, public engagement officer at the Kendal Amateur Astronomical Society, says people need twenty minutes for their eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Twenty minutes, then a neighbour’s security light comes on. Every time. You look up and it clicks on like a police raid.” Dr Alan Whitcombe, Kendal Amateur Astronomical Society

Not mine. We’ve never discussed it. But I’d say it’s a bonding moment for the street. They all swear together.

Then there is light pollution. The sodium glow of a Tesco car park, say.

I catch that. Bounce it back down. Gives everyone a nice, even, tangerine ceiling. Frankly it’s a service.

Is it true that seeing nothing has become a national ritual?

Oh, completely. You stand in the garden. You look up. You go back in. You say “Well, we tried.” It’s heritage. I’m basically the National Trust.

The clocks go back on Sunday 25 October. The nights are drawing in.

Good for me. More of the day to be grey in.

Do you have any relationship with the Met Office?

We go back. They ring ahead. I never pick up. They’ve stopped taking it personally. Mostly.

Will you at least shift for the peak? A gap, just for an hour?

I’ll see how I feel.

When will you know?

Whenever. Is that a flask? You’re not going to stand out in this, are you?

I was thinking of it.

Wear a coat.