Rain

It rains like nothing else in Falmouth. Last night the clouds literally fell down on us. After midnight, still not sleeping but at least there was something to enjoy, I had to open my window just to watch the earth being assaulted by water. So much rain. It was awe inspiring to watch, I felt like a little girl again watching thunderstorms. The noise was tremendous: like waves exploding. I put my hand out of the window just to be a part of it, but was thankful that the rest of me was inside, I wasn’t struggling through the streets.

Ironically then today, I was out when the rain chose to wash us out again. I’d had a lovely warm swim at the Falmouth Hotel, a treat I allow myself now and again, and had more or less dried my hair. I stepped out of the door and into a grey sheet of water. Being slightly fatalistic at times, I sighed and carried on back to the house. And arrived back five minutes later practically drowned. I looked like I’d swum in my clothes, and then showered in them as well. After laughing at me, which I had to do myself, my housemates kindly made me a cup of tea.

I didn’t mind being wet too much, there’s something slightly romantic about being soaked in the rain, hair dripping, skin wet. Slightly muddled visions of Jane Austen heroines in the arms of heroes, or at the very least, Andi McDowall in four Weddings came to mind. Sadly though, I have no romantic hero just at the moment to rescue me, the situation is vacant. Catching a chill is also very unromantic. I just drank my tea and shoved my clothes in the drier. And realised once again that my boots leak and I need a new pair. I need rescuing.