Tuesday November 9, 2004
We were planning on a trip down to Boston today so’s I could deposit some ill-gotten gains in the bank. A side-trip to Costa Coffee was on the cards, too. And maybe, even, Ottakar’s bookshop.
But, it rained. Softly at first. The window pane was completely obscured with a million, trillion rain drops, all beaded and kept separate by some mysterious surface-tensioned geometrical property.
“I don’t like the look of this,” I said. “Do you think we could put our trip off until tomorrow?”
“Could do. We have to go tomorrow, though, ‘cos I’ve got a dentist’s appointment.”
“Fair enough. Like, we can kill two birds with one pull of the pliers.”
“Oh, very funny.”
“Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Yes, it was. Funny, though.”
“I do try.”
“What will you do if we don’t go out?”
“I think it’s a day to sit by the fire with a good, dark-season book.”
“It may well be time for my annual dose of Winnie-the-Pooh.”
And so it was, on a day when I had nothing else to do, I sat by the the fire and read the Pooh books again, in between watching the rain run down the window. Some time around late morning I came along to the kitchen, singing at the top of my voice, giving it a fair bit of welly:
“How sweet to be a cloud
“You sound happy,” said Graham.
“Good. What’s for lunch?”
“Oh, all right, then. How does ham and tomato grab you?”
The rain was really lashing in by the time I had a heaped plate of sandwiches on the table, ready to eat. All pretence at geometrical neatness was gone, and the window pane was streaming.
“I’m glad we decided on staying home today,” I said.
“Mmmpf,” munched Graham.
Another aspect of cosy