Curious

Our pub sits on a hill, amidst farming territory at the edge of a country park popular with walkers. It is reached by an unmetalled lane a mile from each of the nearest main roads. The area is also a favourite of those just out for a more leisurely stroll. It brings the pub a fair bit of business. When I got there yesterday at around two o'clock, it was pretty empty and while I waited for someone to serve me, (judging by the blue smoke there was a burger crisis in the kitchen) a visitor remarked to me that he'd thought a pub like this would be bursting at the seams on such a fine day as yesterday. It has always been a bit of a mystery to us that drink there as well. On the foulest of days, the pub, despite its relative remoteness, is usually very busy indeed; but often on beautiful days it isn't. I conclude that walkers like to press on when the weather is good, but like to cut short and linger over beer when it isn't. Or just like some locals, they like to sit about their back gardens on a lovely day. Of course like most of these things that rule isn't hard and fast, but yesterday it was mostly us locals and another reminder of the fickleness of the pub trade.
 
Of course walkers, like us locals, are a funny lot anyway, so that might well explain it too.