Or at least it was when I was trying to walk home…
What better way to follow a post about sex than by talking about the weather?
I watched the line of showers all afternoon at work knowing that in all liklihood it would be raining when I got home.
And even though I could see the drops of rain dripping down the windows of the train outside I wasn’t prepared for just how heavy the rain was when the doors opened.
Course I couldn’t get my brollie open before the doors closed so like the rest of the startled and unprepared commuters I ran to the small shelter.
Only in Perth do people wait for the rain to stop and, once I’d ascertained that there was no chance on my husband coming to pick up his soggy damsel in distress I wrestled with said umbrella, zipped up all my bags and set off home.
And you know I would have got home relatively dry – apart from the bottom third of my trousers – except for that tosser who went through an enormous puddle and sprayed me with water as I walked innocently past.
Still the rain is nice I guess.
Later I saw a national weather map with a fairly impressive low over the south west.
(okay I realise that only my fellow fans of the weather channel will be excited about this)