Rain is a right bastard when you’re waiting on a bus. Or a train. Or any time you’re outside really. And that ‘wet rain’, the rain that somehow gets you wetter quicker. Thats a right bastard. You get home and your mam is there ‘you’re SOAKED! Have a shower!’. ‘WHY!!? I’m already fucking SOOOAAKKED!!!!’. And despite the fact that I live in Ireland, the rainiest place in the known (and probably unknown) universe I do not own a raincoat. Or any waterproof clothing. So I’m always soaked whenever there’s rain.
But on a Sunday. When you wake up and the rain is pelting the windows and the wind is rattling the doors. Thats epic that is. You grab yer duvet, pick a good seat by a window and read or whatever. Dry as a bone. Warm as wool. Snug as a bug in a rug. I fucking live for that shit man. I read all of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets that way. Was an unreal day. Rain bouncing off the windows, reading my Harry P. Thats the great thing about rain. You’re there, in your eiderdown tower, booking it up, laughing at the daft feckers getting soaked outside and sipping on tea.
Gotta love rain
