As a teenager, I used to wear baggy jeans that were far too long and would drag along the pavement. I listened to Green Day and Nirvana and thought I was somewhat ‘rock and roll’ in my impractical attire. I would run and jump in puddles and the rain water would slowly soak up my jeans, until they were drenched and heavy. This was my rebellious stage. As a young adult, I learnt that childish behaviour like that resulted in discomfort and, potentially, illness. And so I adjusted my wardrobe accordingly and bought sensible shoes to wear in the rain.
However, I have never quite got along with umbrellas. Or hooded coats. I will occasionally, absentmindedly, whack a brolly in my rucksack and attempt to erect it mid-rainstorm – only to discover the frame has snapped – and then I quickly remember that I don’t like holding them up anyway. And so my journeys on rainy days remain somewhat uncomfortable – dashing from one awning to the next, optimistically hovering under lamposts, believing this might prevent the heavy rain from pelting down onto my un-hooded head.
This has developed in me a (probably not uncommon) hate of rain. A real problem when residing in Britain. But I only hate it when I’m out in it. When in the safety and comfort of an un-leaking, sturdy building, I absolutely love it!
This fairly detailed anecdote was inspired simply by the fact that right now I’m sitting comfortably at my desk in the Rook Lane Chapel, warm in my nana knit mint-green cardi from Truly Sopel, relishing the heavy rain as it floods down the glass windows to my left.
I don’t wish to gloat but just check out the view from my desk:
… it may be a grey, miserable morning but right now I’m feeling super-duper. What a wonderful place to work.
