York in the Rain

Whithersoever he goeth he bringeth the rain with him. On the other hand, it's raining just about anywhere so I need not take the rap for this one. Some of the rain is pretty - particularly when seen through a window when all the drops landing on puddles make perfect circles, just as in those famous Japanese woodcuts. Some of the rain is wild - particularly at street intersections where I am glad to have a new double strength umbrella. Some of it is just plain boring and very wet - particularly at all those hours in between the pretty parts. A woman in North Yorkshire has died in a car swept away by the current.

Now I am in a hotel room - big but cold. The life of hotels: it's the same everywhere. I imagine a room shrinking then expanding, the same room every time. Spot the difference in amenities. I think there should be hotel rooms that provide the unusual. Canaries, for instance? The distant sound of tigers in the jungle? A big inflatable mosquito? Sunlight on rainy days?

On the TV it's the news. The woman who slept with the twelve year old boy two hundred times, apparently gave him a pair of trainers as a present on the hundredth occasion. Touching to think of her counting. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine - One Hundred! Perhaps she gave a great shout at One Hundred and Eighty, as in darts.

A three-hour workshop this afternoon on arrival. I think it was fun. I hope the class did. In half an hour I am being taken to dinner. This be the verse:

The rain it raineth on the just
And upon the unjust fella,
But more upon the just because
The unjust steals the just's umbrella.

I'll get my raincoat now.