The day being dry, if cloudy and a little cool, I spent most
of the afternoon in the garden and then went for a walk. Half way along Mill
Lane the heavens opened. I had a light raincoat
on, but it’s really only shower proof; it isn’t up to the job of coping with
God’s attempt to re-float the Ark.
I wasn’t pleased, but I looked at my female companion and she laughed, so I saw
the funny side, too.
The heavens stayed open. Soon the sides of the lanes turned
into torrents, and then parts of their whole width became lakes, small lakes
but too big to jump over. So I waded. I wasn’t dressed for wading. And the
worst bit was the coldness of the water, which isn’t surprising since the
airflow is coming from the Arctic Circle at the moment.
No doubt the rain was part of an Icelandic glacier yesterday. When it first
penetrated my cotton chinos, about ten seconds after the storm started, it
stung, you know? Really stung.
At least ten cars must have driven past me during the forty
minute ordeal. I tried to look miserable, but none of them stopped and offered
me a lift. I suppose they didn’t want something sopping wet getting into their
tidy, dry cars and dripping water onto the carpets and upholstery. I wondered
whether they would feel guilty later; I wondered whether I would have stopped
for somebody in that situation.
The rain ceased completely about three minutes after I got home. And
the sun came out. Right.
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