I'm fed up of getting wet every time I leave work, though: yesterday I ran round the corner to the newsagent around 10am to buy breakfast, and got drenched on the way back. Barely five minutes outside, I mean, what are the chances? Mind you, I also bumped into one of my former English tutors, and what are the chances of that, too? I didn't actually bump into her, of course, which was just as well as she was quite bump-heavy. Baby due today, apparently.
Anyway, so I'm on my way home after work & Oxfam, cycling in the not-rain for the first time today, thinking "well it may be tupping freezing but at least I'm not actually wet, and the sky's clear-ish, quite pretty actually, hello sky, hello clouds" and I'm about 200 yards from home when some knobheaded knob-end from Knob End (or perhaps Dean Court) throws a water-bomb at me from his car window. KNOBHEAD. Okay, that's not quite what I shouted, but close enough for a family journal. And frankly it would have taken too long to say "I've just come home from 11 hours at work, I'm cold and tired and now my trousers are soggy for the second time today, please turn your knobmobile round and drive right back here so I can stab you in the face with a fork." I mean, put like that, it's not much of an incentive, is it.
On the plus side, I now have an enormous bowl of pasta with tuna, courgette (home-grown from a friend's allotment), capers and olives, and I'm not (usually) a knobheaded knob-end. Could be worse, I guess.