Rain

I'd never been so wet. Even when I'd swum in the sea, and been pulled under by the waves, and tossed and turned so
that I didn't know which way was up, and I was gulping salty water. Even then, I wasn't as wet as I was now, crossing the Forth Road Bridge. When we left Pitlochry the rain had just been a smudge, a suggestion. Round about Perth it was no more than a distraction. But by the time we got to Fife it was biblical. It cascaded down the streets and turned the pebbledashed houses a grim dark grey to match the sky. It needled our faces on the descents and poured off our helmets on the climbs. As we crossed the Bridge we looked west and could see hope on the horizon. There was a smear of aquamarine below the storm clouds. Through the leafy, well-healed suburbs of Edinburgh it slowly dried out and we felt the warmth of the sun on our backs. We cut through the centre of town, and it looked glorious. Ridiculous, spectacular, golden and gorgeous. We hummed along Princes St and down towards Leith Walk. At the youth hostel I clutched the pen and tried to sign in as I registered, but my hand was cold from the rain. I smiled apologetically, leaving them to decipher the scrawl and went to have the hottest, strongest, most powerful shower known to man. After a meal and a couple of pints at Robbie's I felt human again, and ready to face tomorrow. As long as it doesn't rain.