This morning I went swimming an hour earlier than usual, because I was awake anyway and wanted to test if I can swim tomorrow and still be in time for an earlyish dentist appointment (success). This had the fortunate side-effect of avoiding the two women who swim Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays who always look at me as if I’ve done something horrible to them and gossip in very loud voices. They don’t gossip about me, at least not in my hearing, but I’d still rather avoid them if I can.
If I’d gone at my normal time I’d have been able to enjoy at least half an hour of glorious rain.
As it was it started to rain in earnest just as I was about to leave, so I stayed another ten minutes, but my bad leg doesn’t agree with swimming more than an hour so I got out while it was still pouring down and had to cycle home in it. It’s still raining now, the time I’d normally have been on the way home, so I’d have had to cycle home in it anyway.
When I was a kid my mother used to call me out of the pool when it rained. I can imagine doing that when it thunders –the swimming-pool people do that too, and I actually saw lightning strike the shallow pool once, minutes after we’d been called in– but when it merely rains? It’s not as if one can get any wetter. And anyway, I didn’t mind getting wet, even from the rain. Still don’t, really, except that wet clothes are nasty.