I’m wet. Sopping wet. I went for a walk in the rain, so it’s hardly surprising. I saw lots of puddles and stepped in a few. My socks are soaked. I stood and watched raindrops as they landed in a pool of water and straight away circles of ripples flowed outwards from them, getting larger and larger and joining with others until they gradually faded away to be replaced by new ones. I had a rare moment of profundity (and long words!) That’s my life I thought. I thought more than that of course, but I’m sure you get the gist without me going on and on.
Anyway, that’s enough of that. What’s for supper?
Picture: Charing Cross Road, 1937 by Wolfgang Suschitzky