I was rained on. I’ve spent weeks now, literally, weeks, writing about this washout summer here in Middlesbrough in the northeast of England. This week, it tried to kill me. Now, it’s arguable that I was caught in a severe rainstorm and that the rain beating the hell out of me was just nature dicking about. However, it dawned on me that I would be dead if I didn’t find some shelter, ergo (at least in my mind), it was trying to kill me. Now, this severe rainstorm – it wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was persistent and annoying, and I was walking in it for around 15 minutes, but it was wet and water falling on you from the heavens isn’t pleasant. I was soaked. I was miserable. My jeans had stuck to my thighs. I had that soggy wet rain smell that made me smell like a tramp. Honestly, my day was ruined. It was a relief when I arrived at my destination. I say relief…
I was heading to a meeting. This involved walking from my house to the bus shelter. In the rain. Then waiting getting drenched at the bus stop for quite some time. Then £2.40 to travel five miles to the town centre. 40 minutes later, I arrived. I then had to walk from the bus stop to the building where the meeting was at, the aforementioned 15-minute walk to the same building with the annoying doors I mentioned a few weeks back. Then a walk up four flights of stairs. Only to be told the meeting was cancelled. Well, to anyone reading who works at that place, I sincerely hope you go and yourself.
I needed therapy. For the anger boiling inside. Not for anything else. Despite what some folks say. Painting was on the agenda this week for that little two-year-old we look after. Mum works as a head caretaker of a primary school and they were throwing away a perfectly good children’s bench and sandpit combo. So she rescued it, bunged it in the back of her car and floored it. Dad repaired it and we decided to give it to the baby. But it needed painting. That was my job. So fun. Painting in the garage with the door partially open as the persistent killer rain started to turn the road into a rather delicious looking sludge. Hmm. Fun times.
I’m not a great painter. Much of the problem lies with my glasses. I inevitably get paint on them and that makes me angry, and I didn’t want to be angry this week. But it felt good doing something for that baby, especially after he hurt his arm. But it wouldn’t feel good for all babies. Some of them are unbelievably irritating little sods.
We had him on Thursday, on my 22nd birthday. It made for a lovely day, especially considering that by Thursday, the weather had finally started to warm up. The baby, he was his usual self. Helped put the candles on my cake and helped me blow them out. What? Everyone has a birthday cake. You can’t abandon all of your childhood when you grow up. You need to hold onto some of it. Being an adult doesn’t mean giving up what made you happy as a child. I like my chocolate cakes. They’re wonderful to eat as well because I never seem to gain weight. This inevitably makes the few women I know really happy.
Despite the effects of the rain still being felt despite the better weather, we took the baby to the farm. This was an interesting venture. The crazy golf course was flooded and the maze was unusable as it was partially buried under five feet of murky, mucky water. The grass was so soggy, the horses had given up trying to move.
It’s a nice farm. One of the few that is surrounded by a housing estate. It used to be in the middle of the countryside but this town’s growth spurt has sort of gobbled it up and made the summer days rather – pungent, let’s say. It was an interesting start to my birthday to say the least, but a nice one as I got to spend it with those I love.
The gifts were all rather nice, especially the balloon. But the pick of the crop, was undoubtedly what my brother got me. He came over after work with it. Bacon flavoured toothpaste. Hmm. That’s certainly a new one on me. I’m not going to use it, in case you’re wondering. It’s currently being displayed proudly on my shelf.
So began Friday, the first day of a new age. How did it start? Well, I am accident prone, so I was expecting something to that effect. But I’m also incredibly unlucky, so when I’m not accidentally hurting myself, I usually cause mishap to others or things. Somehow. I got on the bus early Friday morn. The only person at the stop. The driver pulled away after I sat down. And then he knocked his wing mirror off. Hmm. If only I hadn’t got on the bus, that mirror would still have a home…
“The old believe everything; the middle aged suspect everything; the young know everything”, said the great Oscar Wilde (1854-1900).
Peace Out :|:
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