So it's been raining stair rods in London this evening, and suitably windy
to turn my poor old umbrella inside out. Nice weather. No half-hearted rain,
and the towers of Canary Wharf looked quite atmospheric through the haze.
It makes me think of the imagery in Bladerunner, and then I snap out of it
by contemplating the real estate value of the panorama. Maybe there was a
reason why BT put the extra 1 at the start of telephone numbers
"Good," I think. "If anything can, this should make the stream in the park flood." It came close, but failed to last night.
Pulling on my walking boots I was greeted by water oozing out from the insoles. "Mmm, squelchy", but somewhat of a surprise as my coat had dried out, and I thought that it was the slowest.
But, woe is me. The stream was actually lower than last night. Pathetic. But on the way back up the road I met a frog. The silly thing had crossed over, and was valiantly trying to jump over a wall. A 2 foot high wall. It was leaping up on the diagonal, dropping back vertically, and so slowly making progress, of sorts, sideways. I picked it up on my hand, expecting it to try to jump out, and it just sat there. So I carried it back the park, without it making a single attempt to hop off. In fact, I had to forcibly tip it off when I arrived. Silly things.