I noticed a strange thing tonight, as I took shelter under a tree. It was raining, so that’s what you do. You take shelter.
Except a few weeks ago when we were in Edinburgh we were striding through the rain without a care in the world. Apart from that time it rained so much I had to stop in an archway and wring all the water out of my t-shirt.
But even then that was due to the fact that my t-shirt was really heavy and stickinh to me rather than annoyance at the rain.
But back home, away from amazing shows and brilliant atmosphere, the rain is making me screw my face up like an angry youth on a street corner.
In Edinburgh there was a spring in my step, the rain was a fun distraction that would make everyone slowly steam in the venue.
Back home I’m under a tree, a couple of hundred metres from home contemplating how bad it would be to pull Carole from her cosy Bake Off viewing to come and get me.
Maybe there’s something different about holiday rain as opposed to to home rain. It’s exotic when you’re away, even if you’re only further North than where you normally are. But when you’re home, rain’s just the thing that soaks you through and leaves you having to hang your clothes on door handles to dry out.
All this went through my mind as I decided to suck it up and walk the short distance.
Before I got in and hung my trousers on the door to dry.