Did you know that there are 4,648 words for rain (not true) in the English language and that every available cloudbursting state can be experienced within a single day (true) and they all leave one feeling moist (to various degrees). And I’m now moist.
When I left home twenty minutes ago it was fine and dry. The forecast was for fog and there was not a raincloud in sight. Oh sure, the sky was uniformly grey, but it is September after all and the summer was never going to last forever. But then the fog turned to mist and and mist to mizzle (a fine word for drizzle that’s mainly used in Scotland) and so I stopped.
And that’s why I’m here typing this.
I’m perched on what passes for a bench these days inside a bus shelter. It’s a metal and glass structure that barely covers my stretched out legs, but it at least stops me from becoming more moist. Me and the bike, that is. We were on our way to the last carboot sale of the season at Wiggington and now we’re not (unless the rain stops).
The view in front of me is not exactly attractive. I mean, sure houses and cars have a certain charm, but they’re not really what you look for when you’re thinking of scenic. Still, the tree is nice.
Behind me? Hmm, not sure; let’s have a quick look. *quick look* Well, there’s a fence that’s protecting a garden. After that there’s another fence. And beyond that, it’s fields, fields, fields as far as the eye can see. When I look on a map, they march all the way to the East Coast of England where Bridlington stops them from falling into the sea (lucky for them).
Well, it looks like the rain has stopped, but the road is wet now. That’s means that if I cycle on, my bum is going to get wet, which is never a comfortable feeling. Shall I ride on and spend an hour walking around the carboots of Wiggington, or should I turn back and dry off? I think I’ll stay here and read my book for a bit and then check how I feel. Probably colder would be my guess. Let’s see.