Brought to you by the makers of Wellington Boots

Not really, but they do deserve a special thank you not only for the fantastic functionality of their little rubbery waterproofing boots, but also for the all of the fabulous colors and patterns to choose from! Thanks, Wellies!

It has been tipping it down today and its reported to continue doing so through the next few days.

This isn’t particularly fun for me, as I have to make the five-minute walk between home and tube station four times a day.  That’s 20 minutes of battling wind versus umbrella.  Puddles versus feet.  Fast driving cars veering too close to the mini lakes in the gutter versus my fist raised in triumphant dismay. 

Come to think of it, there are only two instances in my life where I can specifically remember deriving actual (and, if memory serves, rather sublime) pleasure from the rain. 

The most recent was in the fall of 2000 (I can hardly believe it was nearly 8 years ago), during my freshmen year of college.

One reasonably warm autumn evening, after likely doing a lot of hanging out and not much else, it began to pour down buckets like you rarely see.  It just fell straight down in huge drops and a great mass of drops per square meter.  For some unknown reason, it struck us as a great idea to run out to the parking lot and back in again to see how wet we got.  Sure enough, 2.5 seconds out and 2.5 back in, we were soaked. 

So why stop there?  Laughing so hard we could barely breathe, a big group of us ditched our shoes and spent the next hour flailing around campus – splashing and running through puddles that were only puddles for about 6.7 minutes before they became lakes – and generally acting like sugar-crazed children!  It was absolute bliss. 

In the years following, we frequently and fondly remembered that night, but never carried out a repeat performance.  Maybe because it never rained that hard again or maybe because we just got too old for it.

Regardless, whenever I find myself very grownup-ly inconvenienced by the rain, I remember that night and smile.   And – only if I’m wearing my knee-high polka-dotted Wellies, mind you - I’ll have a little splash in grateful remembrance.