Today is a wet day. The autumn air is full of the kind of rain that defies accurate description, for it is neither rain nor drizzle, neither mist nor low cloud.
It’s extremely wet, though!
The suspended water droplets are so tiny they almost seem to pass through waterproof fabric, through all those little holes that your sweat is supposed to be able to pass through. We all fell for that one, didn’t we?
Certain advertising campaigns get under even the most cynical radar. I still believe that a Mars Bar helps me work, rest and play, that toothpaste gives me a ring of confidence, that chocolates are the way to a woman’s heart, and that Goretex keeps the rain out while letting sweat through.
These unexamined statements are spawn of the devil, like people who drop litter and beer that’s too cold to taste!
However, after that outburst of rancid bitterness, it is still raining, and I won’t be able to go up Cop Hill, as I had planned to do.
The valley has a strange feeling of being cut off from the world, or cut adrift from it. The cloud looms low over Pule Hill, Deer Hill has almost disappeared, and yet it is sunny, apparently, on the other side.
The stationary high pressure system over Scandinavia means we are stuck. The weather is stuck, the clouds are stuck. Even my desire to take Ruby for a walk is stuck.
And so, while the Scandinavians remain high as kites, I have nothing to say. Of course, I have views on the great Issues of the day. I have views about the American Presidential election, about Britain’s exit from the European Union, about the Middle East, but this is not the place for becoming hysterical.
Here, I will keep my peace and remain inscrutable. I suppose this makes me different . . .