It's raining. AGAIN. We seem to have been on a heavenly spin
cycle for weeks. Who knew being permanently wet could be this
tedious?
At first it was that kind of annoying moist rain that feels like
God is just spritzing you in the face, but now it's biblical. I'm
even considering building an Ark and inviting other North London
Lesbians in to shelter from the storm. Lesbians would make the
perfect Ark guests, because they always come two by two.
My face feels as if it's been covered in a thin film of rain for
days. I have limited meteorological knowhow, so I'm concerned that
the rain that just fell on my face started out life as the detritus
of Camden Canal. I could probably cut out the middle man and just
apply a duck poo face mask.
All this rain has put me right off the idea of leaving the house -
ever. Soon I'll be answering the door in an old dressing gown
with a cat stuffed in each pocket. I've already started dressing
differently. Yesterday I caught myself eyeing up a North Face
anorak thinking, "hmm that looks practical."
Leaving my house outside of school hours is fraught with danger.
The streets of North London fill with short yummy mummies hell bent
on spearing your tits with their umbrellas. I'd have to wear a
breastplate just to pop to the post office, or risk my already
soggy baps being broken apart.
Public transport in this weather is unbearable. If I wanted to
spend my morning in some bloke's moist armpit I'd be straight.
Taking a bus ride with a load of men who've been recently rained on
is like sitting in a steam room with the inhabitants of Battersea
Dogs Home. And you can forget the tube; I've grabbed enough greasy
poles in my time to know that no good can ever come of this.
I think the real reason I hate the rain is that I've never managed
to perfect that 'sexy wet through' look; the one made famous by
Andie McDowell at the end of Four Weddings and a Funeral. My
'rain face' falls somewhere between gurning and opened mouthed
surprise, as if I've just been squirted in the face at point blank
range by a clown's flower. I don't think I could get away
with saying, 'Is it raining, I hadn't noticed'.
I'm looking forward to the end of this indomitable wetness.
I don't know about you, but I'm praying for a dry spell.
