It’s one of the most comforting sounds. Rain lashing against the windows, hammering the roof, relentless. As long as you’re inside.
(Not including inside a caravan. Then the choice is go outside and be soaked or stay inside and be deafened.)
So right now it’s stair rods outside. And I thank my good fortune that I’m in. Especially given how I feel about umbrellas. But it’s the big hike weekend shortly.
Top Boy is preparing to tramp over fields and through forests and rivers old and newly created. He and his mates have a tent to pitch in some sopping bog.
It’s shaping up to be one of those formative experiences that helps young people develop trench foot, pneumonia, hypothermia – oh, and character. So that’s alright.
Bon voyage mes braves. N’oubliez pas votre tubas.
This has been a post on the subject of rains for the Loose Bloggers Consortium (every friday folks). You can find out whether it’s raining men, teardops or bomblets for the other members by scrolling down the right hand side of your screen and clicking on their links.