In the morning get up early, in time to turn off the alarm clock before it really gets started. At that stage the first cup of coffee is drunk. Start to wonder if all that coffee could be the cause of high blood pressure.
The weather outside is deadly grey, like the old standard Kodak card, seventeen percent reflectance, parts of the yard are black in the shadows. There is the steady dripping and gurgling from the gutters. All of the black jeans have been sprayed with mud, they really look filthy, as if they had not been washed for weeks, despite the last pair having only been worn once, yesterday, during that long walk beside the motorway. The walk that ended with frozen legs and wet trousers.
Fill the washing machine with the four besplattered trousers and whatever else had accrued during the past week in the translucent plastic dirty clothes trunk. Run the washing machine at thirty degreees, hotter makes no sense and might harm some of the fabrics in the mix.
Find the rain pantalons in the wardrobe under the jackets, that place that things vanish into when they cannot be classified simply. They are still packed, as they were when bought in the food store. Remove all the card and plastic and put them on over the last remaining pair of lighter black trousers. They should at least keep the legs dry. Put on the black jacket too.
The weather is revolting, there is no other way to describe it. The paths are partly slippery mud, or inundated entirely, or have turned into small streams transporting the water out of the hills around the valley. The fabulous jacket from work starts to develop leaky patches.
The bus at the terminus near Schönbrunn is a tempting proposition, but then the sun comes out. The decision is made not to take the bus.
Ten minutes later, the downpour starts again, Even the ducks by the river are gathering in disgruntled groups under the bridges.
No comments:
Post a Comment