Monday, 20 February 2012


Outside, it's a wet and windy day.  The rain lashes the streets with
unrelenting fervour as, from my window, I observe a few bedraggled
passersby scurry for shelter or in pursuit of some purpose know only
to themselves.  The sky is grey and ominous, clouds swirl overhead in
regal, grim-meined majesty, contemptuously regarding us mere
mortals as the lowly ants we undoubtedly are.

And that's the weather forecast for today.

However, cosily ensconced within the comfortable confines of my
comics covered cubbyhole, I luxuriate in the warmth emanating from
the radiator and concern myself with what pithy (no, I don't have a lisp),
profound and poignant comments I can bestow upon my eager audience,
who look to me to lighten and brighten their unbearable burden by be-
dazzling them with the wit and wisdom which so freely pours forth
from my meaningful, methodical and monumental mind. 

Oh, what lucky people you are.

When I was a boy in
Belmont, we had an
outside 'garden cellar'
(as did most houses in
the street), in which we
stored coal in one half
and garden tools (lawn-
mower, spades, etc.) in
the other.  (It was called
a cellar even 'though it
wasn't underground, but
apparently the term is
not misapplied in such

 On rainy days I'd sit on a deckchair inside the bigger-sized half with
the door slightly ajar, reading comics and listening to the rain pattering
off the pavement and caressing the concrete roof under which I
ever-so-snugly sheltered.

Even today, I find it a supremely calming experience to sit in a car in
the rain and listen to the drops rattlling on the roof in their staccato, tinny-
sounding fashion.  There is a wonderfully diverse quality to rain;  when one
is out walking in it, it invigorates, it refreshes, and it cleanses.  Yet, when
one takes the time to regard its presence in quiet contemplation from the
comfort of a dry haven, it also relaxes the mind and soothes the soul.

Sadly, refuge in the
garden cellar of my
youth is a couple of
houses ago and many
years in the past.  How-
ever, I can still seek
sanctuary in its shadows
with one short step into
the hallowed halls of
memory.  As Cicero him-
self said:  "Memory is the
treasury and guardian
of all things."

Failing that, of course, I can always go and sit in my nice new acrylic
garden shed and listen to the rain pitter-patter all around me, the door
half-open to allow me to watch it in silent awe.


Incidentally, the photo below was taken about twenty years ago
outside the very cellar mentioned, around twenty years after I had
moved from the house.  How did I manage that, do I hear you ask?
Ah, but that's a story for another time.


BTO said...

Aaah, yes - the rain pattering on the roof of a car! I know what you mean!

Kid said...

Magic, isn't it? Unfortunately, I don't have a car. Maybe I'll get one just so I can go out and sit in it when it rains.

Colin Lorimer said...

Couldn't agree more...

Kid said...

Thanks for commenting, Colin.

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