London after the rain is a filthy bitch. as you'd expect - the scum floats to the top and the grime sinks to the bottom, leaving the murky middle for the rest of us to move through.
walking to work along Regent Street in the rain is generally pleasant until you look down. my big, waterproof boots protect me from all but the worst of what i could walk through, which is good when the puddles are broad and black - black from the dust shed from bus tyres, the grit from the centuries-old stones gently rubbing together through thermal expansion and traffic, gradually wearing themselves down like an octogenarian's teeth, soot from the fires and exhaust we use to get around, keep warm and cook our food... it all pools in the depressions in the road and the gaps between bitumen and pavement. London after the rain is like a socialite after a big night - tired, ragged, lip gloss worn off, perfume washed away and mascara run, underwear soiled or lost, miserable and desperate for a bit of cash to get home. forget the cold which is crisp and soul-destroying, but a perfect reminder that you are in fact alive, ignore the gloom where you can better see the lights and slide comfortably through the shadow. walking the streets when the rain's gone and the puddles are drying is when this place is at its most depressing.
but when it rains... when it rains the city gains a lustre you'd never have anticipated. there's a feeling of life from the movement of water... the city's having a shower and it's singing while the scum washes down the plug hole and into the Thames. i love it when it rains around here. it's so completely unlike the downpours and storms and violence you get back home. Perth gets its semi-annual thunderstorm in January. from what i'm hearing i just missed this year's one. Canberra has its Spring and Autumn rains where the drainage ditches fill with water for those brief days, then dry up again for the rest of the year. here the rain's gentle. sometimes it's heavy, but even then it doesn't feel like it's battering you down. usually it's a caress that barely leaves you moist and even though you know it's full of the dust and detritus that you'll soon be stepping over in the street i never find myself getting upset when i'm caught out and it feels clean, not dirty.
i've been having one of those odd weeks where inconsequential things take on the strangest meanings. i had one of those "American Beauty" moments when i got back to base one night - the thick frost on the skips along the street glittering like a million tiny diamonds and i had to get a photo because for 3 seconds it was The Most Beautiful Thing i'd Ever Seen. grey buildings under a grey sky over grey people walking grey streets: a comforting backdrop to my stark black attire. the pebbles on the beach shifting under my feet while i stood in the freezing cold wind of night watching the waves lap the shore: a charming moment in time that could never be captured in a photograph.
i wonder sometimes how clearly i really see the world, but i can't help but enjoy the view sometimes. one of the benefits of having louise around is that i can gauge just how far i am off the deep end by how seeing how confused she gets by me. not that i let her reaction change things. i like it here - both the town i'm in and the mental overlay i can't help but give it...
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We dehydrated Canberrans appreciate listening to your tales of this water you speak of. Perhaps, before my son dies he will see some "rain" with his own eyes.
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