Recap.
I was out in the rain. January rain. And it was sub-tropical. Where did the cold month go?
It'll be along shortly, after a slight delay. Writers, desperate to use evil January rain as inspiration for storytelling, must wait.
Well I didn't have to wait fucking long. It's been a stormy week. I didn't think there'd been much damage. Today, imagining the worst of the wind behind me, I went to the shops for a newspaper.
The worst of the wind was behind me. To the left of me. The right of me. Ahead of me. I was blown around. And I saw evidence of damage on my travels.
A gate was barely hanging on by its top hinge and the latch fastening. The bottom of the gate lolled into the street. A tongue, hanging out of the garden.
Not my garden, thank fuck. The odd wrapper blew in and out again. That was the limit of the personal wreckery. Yes, I just coined a fucking word. Get over it.
(Newsflash. I checked. It's a word. I didn't coin a fucking word. Get over it.)
The journey home was fiercer. Well of course it fucking was. I was carrying a flappy item by then. That's the rule. You'll be fine until you have to carry something.
Ooh. The wind roared its disapproval as I typed that.
Ice bullets fell, and I rearranged my newspaper so that it disappeared inside my coat. Then the wind picked up and threw me around a bit.
Just a bit.
Indoors again, I remembered that lunatic blog post about a mild January. Another idiot wrote that in a different century. The story had no bearing on the wind that carried me to my door today.
Inside, I just wanted to sit down and rest. Later, I'd watch snow fall in gentle flurries. What? This makes no sense. Where did the wind go?
The wind just wanted to sit down and rest. It's back now, banging on the doors and windows. And proper January rain falls, where snowflakes danced not so long ago.
I'm glad to be indoors. If you aren't indoors as you are reading this, I hope the weather is clement where you are.
Inclement weather is weather you stay in from.
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