I appear to have moved to the wettest place in North Western Europe. It is as if all those years of my saying that I really like rain have come home to roost. I still do like it, although would prefer not to be pushing two children in a soggy buggy through it, in a stupid but effective hat, pulling my wet cardy sleeves down over my wet knuckles. It comes to something when you think "oh well at least it's vertical rain and not that bastard diagonal stuff!". It would not surprise me if Belgians had 50 words for rain.
Occasionally it still very much surprises me that I am here. Because I don't do things like this. I stay within a five mile radius of where I was born. I cling to security. And then I didn't. Unsurprisingly, or perhaps surprisingly, life feels pretty much the same here as it did in London, despite the shifting of tectonic plates.
There is a feeling that I'm waiting for something. Whether this be an event, a person, a change within myself, I am not sure. What is certain is that the only sensible thing is to ignore that feeling. If one waits for an event, or a person, or a change within oneself before engaging with life, life will trot on anyway.
Don't wait for the rain to stop.