When I was little I used to look forward to the rain. I would put on my dad's raincoat and his wellington boots, and take an umbrella up the end of the garden. Both parents would scream and froth from the back door but I would not come in. Rain has always afforded me a hypnotic peace, and as this appears to be the wettest city on the planet, I should be in a state of permanent calm. There are so many kinds of rain. There is the "God just flushed the toilet" type which we often get in Brux, and which looks and feels apocalyptic. There is the gentle but thorough type that feels like tiny electric charges on your hands and face. There's the rumbling flashing rain that cleans muggy air for an hour or so. It says something about Brux that my best investment has been a waterproof hat.
As I said to P, as she struggled to find the armholes of her cagoule, it always feels like the start of an Annie Lennox song here.
So, why Brussels? Well in the absence of any particularly good reason, because of the rain. The soft grey darkness of a summer day is essential to my well-being. I do realise this makes me sound quite odd. So I might say something else instead.
I love the rain too - and you should see the rain here lately! The whole country is flooded, millions have died, people are building Arks, Dawkins is praying to God to stop it, and golf is unlikely.
ReplyDeleteThere'll be a hosepipe ban again next week.
ReplyDelete