Wet, wet, wet

Current mood: Damp (literally)
Current music: Rain-like, tinkly piano music by Yann Tiersen

Picture taken from http://www.tiny-vessels.net/photoblog/?p=31

I've always appreciated a good rainstorm. I like to sit by the window and watch, marvelling at how the rain pours down in sheets as it is swept by the wind, enthralled by the dramatic flashes of lightning, fascinated with the way the water runs down the glass and warps the view like a fairground distorting mirror.

The point is, of course, that the best place to appreciate a storm is in the safety and comfort of somewhere indoors. If I have to observe the storm whilst being out in it, my level of appreciation falls rather rapidly.

This morning I was caught out in the rain. Yes, I had an umbrella; no, it wasn't any help. I'm not talking about demure English drizzle here - I'm talking about a big, fat downpour that shouts, 'You're in the tropics now, and you'd better believe it!' If English rain is likened to a pale, slender young lady in a pearly grey dress, then this monsoon is the swearing, overweight old biddy who takes up two seats on the train and makes more noise in the carriage then everyone else put together.

So I was less than impressed when I had to stand by the bus stop for almost half an hour before the said conveyance deigned to arrive. In that time I counted around five or six cars that drove particularly fast and close to the pavement in order to send up plumes of water from the puddles that inhabited the side of the road. As a drenched pedestrian I was not amused. I wonder if there is a circle of Hell reserved especially for the drivers of such vehicles.

By the time I finally got to work I looked as though I'd gone for a wade in the kiddies' swimming pool whilst fully dressed. I was also sadly over-optimistic about my big black leather boots, which I'd thought were proof against all weather; I now have proof that they are not.

Now I'm lurching around the office (my big boots don't fit that well without my socks, which are currently drying off nearby), slowly freezing to death in the wintry climes of the Air-Conditioned Workplace, while my trousers adhere to my legs in a clammy and singularly disagreeable fashion - rather like an unwelcome yet persistent suitor.

I wish I had the foresight to bring a spare pair of trousers, and to wear sandals. Heck, if I'd brought a hairdryer I'd at least have something to dry my wet clothes with (why oh why are there no hand-dryers in the washroom?).

I also wish I'd remembered to change the paper bag carrying my lunch for a plastic one. The paper bag - a nice blue bag, with string handles and a picture of a cow on it (Ben & Jerry's takeaway: 'Euphoria to go!') - suffered irreparable structural damage during my delay at the bus stop, and has been given a funeral of gravitas and dignity in my wastepaper-basket. After a suitable period of mourning I shall have to hie me once more to Ben & Jerry's, and obtain a replacement (and to buy ice cream while I'm at it, of course. Any excuse, eh?).

For all my ranting and raving, I do like an occasional walk in the rain. But not when I have a full day in a freezing office lined up, with no hope of dry clothes, a warm drink and a cosy seat by the window...