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It hasn't rained in about a week, then it bucketed down all night and was all stopped by the morning commute. Everyone's happy. Gardeners and commuters. If I could make the world a better place, I'd make a rule that it could only rain at night.

We have no rain forecast for two weeks, bar a thunderstorm on Friday night. Sunny and 15-20 degrees every day. But if I go round talking about how awesome that is, I'd get weird looks. These fuckers are worried about what that does to their lawns. Anyway. Blah blah blah.

It rained here on Friday. Everyone seemed actually happy about it. People with gardens, I suspect. "Ooh, we so need this" "Well, this is overdue" Being happy about rain. People, man.

Well, he's a hardy fellow.

Fucking hell. It looks brutal there today.

It's weird. I used to bike to work in Dublin. It rained about once every two weeks on my commute. It does suck though. I'm giving serious consideration to moving to LA. Like why spend one's life in fucking bad weather, you know?

My sister has left her phone in the car. It is right next to the house. She says there is no way in hell that she's going out to get it. That must be a pretty bad storm, she loves that phone.

Anywhere warm like Scutter says. Toes down.

Stick 'em with toes pointing downwards on top of a radiator. Job done.

It has rained here once in three weeks. It gets to the point where you walk out and it's raining and you go "What the fuck is this stuff? Oh, yeah. Fucking rain! And I don't own a car. Fuck."

Five minutes to five and the rain starts. Isn't it ironic, don'tcha think?

Maybe the rain is a dick, not an asshole. A pathetic phallusy if you will. (sorry x 100)

This time last week you probably could have counted on Bernie Mac.

Ah, there's a certain freedom in hitting the point where you can't get any wetter on the bike, and you just say 'fuck it, bring it on'.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

On the upside, I haven't had to water my plants in weeks, I don't feel guilty about sitting in, getting food delivered and reading instead of going out, or indeed spending most of Saturday afternoon stuck in the reading room of The Palace. And a heavy downpour is a beautifully hypnotic thing...

balls

Right.

Fucking amen to that, brother.