A few miles outside the village of St. Neots, we came into a small village with a farm store. I ducked in, picked up a lemonade, a candy bar and a bag of chips. As I paid for the items, one of the storms that had been shadowing us finally moved in, dumping a heavy rain. That's when the newspaper stacked in front of the meat counter caught my eye.
When we got to St. Neots, we were hit by a hail stones, and several of us ducked under a storefront to wait it out. Coincidence? Neots is an anagram for stone.