Something was not quite right.
And I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Some deep buried internal clock in me was pointing out to some anomaly.
The world around me was slightly off its axis.
It felt incomplete.
Like Rolls without Royce.
Coq sans vin. Laurel away from Hardy.
La France without strikes.
Or an industrial estate without foxes. A sky with no contrails. A politician without promises.
A cabernet sans sauvignon. A smoke without fire. A mortgage broker’s ad without small print.
And then it suddenly hit me.
Me and the train windows, as it splattered in thousands of joyful ejaculations.
The rain was back!
It had gone. For a loooooong time. For over a month.
It had not sung on my roof tiles for more than four weeks.
It had not soaked through my jeans for an eternity.
And I was glad.
I still am.