It’s so windy here today the hedge is almost getting blown to pieces, bits of leaf are smashing against the window like disoriented birds. The tall, dense trees in the park look like they’re being strangled, their tops shaking violently, while the willowy ones are reaching over, holding on to their fronds.
It’s not yet wet, but the dark grey sky suggests it will be.
So far I’ve managed to escape seasonal affective disorder, that lethargic and depressed feeling that accompanies a lack of sunshine. The exercise I get cycling and walking everywhere despite the weather keeps my mood up.
There are limits though.
On Saturday Ian and I made our usual trip to the market to stock up, extra important since we’d been living on the dregs of the kitchen since returning from our holiday. It was pouring outside, so Ian was hesitant, but I convinced him to rally against the weather.
We set out each with an umbrella in hand, and tried to juggle bundling fruit and veg in bags with one hand while holding an umbrella in the other. We got wet.
After two hours of steady rain the water had soaked through my boots into my socks. Finally we had a brief reprieve, when the rain settled back to a light spray, like in a glasshouse, so we folded our umbrellas and stocked up both arms with bags, trudging home. I pulled off my boots and collapsed on the bed.
I’m a trooper though – Rosie and I had agreed to go sales shopping, so I got up, put on a different pair of shoes and set out again into the foul weather. The sales wait for no woman!
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