What's a person got to do to get some weather around here?! Not many people seem to realise, but we've experienced a drought here in Blighty. My local lake has actually dried up. Which is no joke for a Laker.
So it was with some excitement I greeted the onslaught of this week's rain.
At last! I thought.
I'm not sure why people complain about rain so much; I've been drenched two nights running, and frankly I quite enjoyed it. But then it was raining when I was born, so perhaps that’s my weather.
Last night the trains at Liverpool St were stuck, because of signal failures, and so taking one look at the masses of backed up commuters crammed onto platforms, I thought better of it and hopped on a Boris Bike.
I pedalled furiously, until my glasses were too rain-obscured, and then hopped on a DLR. Followed by a bus. Followed by a walk. If not easy, it at least lent my commute some novelty value. I probably should have just cycled in the first place.
Today was the second drenching, of course. I popped by Palestra on the way home; TfL's secret headquarters which are located in a large building by Southwark Station, right beside the North-South cycle superhighway - or CS6 as number enthusiasts might call it - for a top secret meeting about cycling.
I'd sagely decided this morning that my already stuffed rucksack, which pushed 10kg last week on trips to and from my new office, didn’t need the extra weight of a jacket, what with the sunny, warm weather and all.
It was only upon glancing out the window at 4pm, as I was about to head to Southwark, I realised this was A Mistake.
I considered public transport for a brief moment, then thought better of it.
It was actually OK once you got in past your shoulders. I put my cycling clothes back on from this morning, and embraced the rain, managing to get changed again in a loo before my meeting.
Rain is the perfect excuse to talk to your fellow cycling Londoner. And they are full of gems of wisdom, as well as each emitting their own miniature water feature from their back wheels in wet weather, like watery tails.
I chatted briefly to a woman on a Boris Bike, on the East-West Cycle Superhighway on the way home, who got in on my selfie.
She agreed the rain was unexpected, before expressing a feeling about cycling in the rain I hadn’t quite put my finger on, but had inspired the silly grin I'd worn since Palestra.
“It feels like an adventure”.
Later, at the end of CS2 in Stratford, and nearly home, I sensed the time was ripe for more small talk with fellow cyclists.
I exclaimed what a lovely evening it was for a bike ride as five or so men on bikes bunched up beside me at some lights. As we waited in the pouring rain one rolled his eyes comically; another observed: “No wind, light rain. It couldn’t be better!”
And you know what? He was right. Even with my clothes soaked through, my arms numb and cold, and hands slipping on brakes that worked half as well as they do in the dry, it couldn’t have been better.
Who needs the same thing every day?! Give me weather. This is my home at last! face.
