It just wasn't today. Stormy and wild, I think Mr Mo may want to rethink the drought comment he made two weeks back. That is, if the crops don't drown first in this weather.
A bridge broke in Cumbria today and a police officer has gone missing in the flood. I think fondly of Mr D whenever we talk about the North. Cumbria is home to a very dear friend who opened his doors to me when I visited over Easter this year. His wife and him were such kind hosts, they took me to the Carlisle races, to see his horses, to play dominoes with old men in a village pub, and to the lake district, oh the lakes. Throughout the journey, they had all sorts of little banters, and affectionately called each other 'mye lov', he called her 'wifey', 'petal', they were a little happy couple. I saw him three days ago, a man lost, quite broken - he tells me that she's left him, and he doesn't know why.
Watching the torrential downpour pelt down and water pour through the broken troughs, I can't help but wish that the rain would wash away his pain and sorrow, that life would one day be better, where the autumn sun will warm his milkbottle tan, and I'd hear his jolly laughter once again.
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