Tonight, as I made my way from the office to the tube station, a 1.5km stroll that involves crossing the Thames via the Millennium Bridge, I got caught in a massive rainstorm.
When I first set out the rain was light; within 500metres it was bucketing down, turning the pavement into a temporary river. By the time I got to the river my trousers, a light grey linen, were black with rain.
There wasn't much I could do but continue on my merry way, and, indeed, it was merry. Why? Because all the rain had scared (or perhaps washed) away all the dozy, go-slow tourists that normally turn the Millennium Bridge walk into a hugely frustrating obstacle course.
So, there I was striding across the bridge, a flimsy green umbrella protecting nothing more than my hair, while everything else -- my shoes, my trousers, the arms of my summer jacket -- became wet through. It reminded me of the last drenching I endured -- when we were in Wexford last month.
It was mid-afternoon, the sun ablaze, when T and I decided to go for a walk to the beach. I expected an enjoyable stroll along the pristine white sands of Curracloe strand in the sunshine, but it didn't quite work out that way.
First, the mile long walk was a dice-with-death heart-thumping walk along a quite busy road comprising numerous blind corners. We had to walk on the tarmac and hope like hell any approaching traffic would see us and slow down. There were no verges or ditches to escape into should we find ourselves staring down a fast-moving vehicle.
Having survived the walk to the beach, we bought ice-creams and then took a stroll along the sand.
Beautiful isn't it?
We sat down for a little bit to admire the scenery, and before long I could see the clouds darkening in the sky.
"Perhaps we better get a move on," said T. "I've got to get my washing off the line."
The clouds were getting darker and darker with each passing minute. The temperature was dropping, too. And we still had about a mile to go. Along that damn dangerous main road.
See all those black clouds? That's where we were headed.
As we got closer, it got darker. Before long there was no light left in the sky. And then, five minutes from home, the heavens opened. The rain was so thick and heavy it was pointless even digging out the raincoats we'd packed in our bag. We simply let ourselves get wet. By the time we walked in the door anyone would think I'd just stepped out of the shower fully-clothed.
We laughed about it afterwards, but T wasn't impressed: his washing, on the line, was wetter than it was when it first came out the washing machine!Which was kind of how I felt when I got on the District Line this evening: wet right through as if I'd just gone through a quick-wash rinse cycle!