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Down came the rain
Friday, September 23rd, 2005 03:21 pmA classic case, if ever there was one, of closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.
My daily wander out onto Victoria Street in search of lunchtime nourishment was taken in the face of dire utterings from a sodden boss about the weather. Consequently I bided my time and waited by the window, monitoring the rain. At the moment it slackened, I raced downstairs and out to purchase sarnies. All was well, a light sprinkling, no more.
Until I got outside Portland House, which is pretty much the half-way point. The heavens opened, and I could barely have got wetter if someone had turned a fire hose on me.
Drat and indeed, curses.
Suitably soggy, I am now the proud owner of a ten quid tote brolly. A thousand times bitten, eventually you get the message. To create a mixed metaphor, or strangled simile.
In the meantime, my damp jacket has the air of a dog’s basket about it, despite never having been near a dog or its basket. Why do wet jackets smell like that?
My daily wander out onto Victoria Street in search of lunchtime nourishment was taken in the face of dire utterings from a sodden boss about the weather. Consequently I bided my time and waited by the window, monitoring the rain. At the moment it slackened, I raced downstairs and out to purchase sarnies. All was well, a light sprinkling, no more.
Until I got outside Portland House, which is pretty much the half-way point. The heavens opened, and I could barely have got wetter if someone had turned a fire hose on me.
Drat and indeed, curses.
Suitably soggy, I am now the proud owner of a ten quid tote brolly. A thousand times bitten, eventually you get the message. To create a mixed metaphor, or strangled simile.
In the meantime, my damp jacket has the air of a dog’s basket about it, despite never having been near a dog or its basket. Why do wet jackets smell like that?
