August 3rd, 2004


Big, fat, summer raindrops. Somehow, they always seem more enthusiastic than winter rains; in winter, the raindrops are just doing their job, boring though it is, while in summer they've been given an exciting special assignment - go in, wet everything in sight quite thoroughly, to the accompaniment of thunder, and then leave again.

There were pigeons sat on the roof of the house next door, huddling in the lee of its chimney in an attempt not to get so wet. One of them was, I swear, using one wing as an umbrella, holding it up over its head. Pity the exceedingly-close bolt of lightning a moment ago scared them off, or I'd've tried to get a photo.

On Wimbledon Common one summer, a friend of mine and I got caught in a heavy summer rainstorm with no shelter around, and rapidly wound up soaked to the skin. We gave up and went for a swim in one of the ponds, fully clothed, since we couldn't get any wetter...