Why does(n't) it always rain on me?
It was really, really raining this morning. The sort of weather best described as 'f*cking p*ssing down'. As I splashed to the station, chavvy commuters sprinted inside, shielded from the downpour by umbrellas and newspapers.
Nobody strode to the end of the platform to get on at the Waterloo end, but huddled like miserable cattle under the shelter, misty breath curling. The view from the steamy windows on the muggy train was further distorted by torrents of water streaming down the sides of the carriage. More people crammed in, station by station, with frizzy hair, wet magazines, splatted glasses, smudged mascara.
By the time we got to Waterloo the rain was still hammering on the roof, splashing through the window, pooling by the tracks. Mindful of my rain-sponge of a coat and lack of umbrella, I ran into Tie Rack and shelled out a tenner for a micro-brolly.
Down in the Jubilee line train, warming, steaming commuters dripped onto the floor and fogged the windows. Two stops later, I emerged from the escalators, ready to smugly unfurl my new umbrella against the angry sky.
Except it had stopped raining. Huge grey clouds hurried away to reveal patches of brilliant blue.
Why did it do that? How unfair! I have been lugging the same £1.99 Primark brolly around for two years. When I finally can't find it and get a snazzy new one barely bigger than my bloody iPod, it stops raining. It ALWAYS rains on me. If it's going to rain for two minutes in one day, it will be the two minutes I decide to pop out for a paper.
But now it hasn't rained all day. The umbrella is sheathed and untested. By the look of it, there isn't enough fabric in there to shield Nicole Richie from a pigeon poo. But I want to play with my new umbrella! I can't even go and provoke the chav children to attack me with their Turbo Nutter Bastard Supa Soakers, because, as announced by the barrage of bangs last night, firework season is upon us, and now they will be preoccupied with hurling rockets at cats until well into January.
Huh.
Nobody strode to the end of the platform to get on at the Waterloo end, but huddled like miserable cattle under the shelter, misty breath curling. The view from the steamy windows on the muggy train was further distorted by torrents of water streaming down the sides of the carriage. More people crammed in, station by station, with frizzy hair, wet magazines, splatted glasses, smudged mascara.
By the time we got to Waterloo the rain was still hammering on the roof, splashing through the window, pooling by the tracks. Mindful of my rain-sponge of a coat and lack of umbrella, I ran into Tie Rack and shelled out a tenner for a micro-brolly.
Down in the Jubilee line train, warming, steaming commuters dripped onto the floor and fogged the windows. Two stops later, I emerged from the escalators, ready to smugly unfurl my new umbrella against the angry sky.
Except it had stopped raining. Huge grey clouds hurried away to reveal patches of brilliant blue.
Why did it do that? How unfair! I have been lugging the same £1.99 Primark brolly around for two years. When I finally can't find it and get a snazzy new one barely bigger than my bloody iPod, it stops raining. It ALWAYS rains on me. If it's going to rain for two minutes in one day, it will be the two minutes I decide to pop out for a paper.
But now it hasn't rained all day. The umbrella is sheathed and untested. By the look of it, there isn't enough fabric in there to shield Nicole Richie from a pigeon poo. But I want to play with my new umbrella! I can't even go and provoke the chav children to attack me with their Turbo Nutter Bastard Supa Soakers, because, as announced by the barrage of bangs last night, firework season is upon us, and now they will be preoccupied with hurling rockets at cats until well into January.
Huh.
posted by Elizabeth at 5:39 PM
1 Comments:
I see your pissing down and raise you a drought and a storm that never showed.
On the other hand, a 3 year drought gives me less opportunity to leave brollies on station seats.
Also, those itsy bitsy brollies are a triumph of hope over experience :(
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