I’m just home from a week’s holiday to jolly England. It was splendid, and quite sunny – warm enough for carrying our coats about (rather than actually wearing them). There was one wet day though. A very wet day. Thunder and lightning and rain bouncing off the ground sort of wet. It happened to be the day that we had picked for an open-top bus tour of Bath.
This picture was taken while we all huddled under the shelter of ‘the Assembly Halls’, mustering up the courage to brave the rains. These boys had given up trying to shield themselves. There was no point - they couldn't get any wetter. Water dripping off their noses, shoulders hunched, feet dragging, amused (but slightly pathetic) expressions on their faces. Poor things. We also looked rather similar by the time we got back to the car. It was quite exciting though. There is something of the sublime about being caught in a rain shower.
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I called my Grandpa this afternoon, and was telling him a bit about the holiday.
‘We went to London one day and saw the Lion King, and another day we went to Bath and ---‘
‘Did you get wet?’ He asked. A husky chuckling tumbled into my ear through the receiver. (This sort of humour is rooted deep in the bones of all the male members of this famliy.)
‘Yes. Very funny. We did get wet in Bath.’
I'm amazed you had any nice days at all. Up north the clouds have been glowering at us all week, but I'm glad you had a nice time in 'jolly' old England. There is something nice about being caught in a rain shower, so long as it's fairly warm rain and you have a 'we may as well enjoy ourselves' outlook. But sometimes it's miserable. Like when you expect to sunbathe so your wearing an itty bitty skirt and top. I have to say, I could almost imagine your Grandpa saying that joke, with a twinkle in his eye. It's just so very Grandpa-ish.
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