April showers

The weather’s turned.  It always happens at this time of year.  One sunny day and everyone takes their clothes off: builders shed layers and Oriana asks me why they don’t have their clothes on, legs in shades of translucent purple pop out from all-to-short skirts like uncooked drumsticks, and the more overweight the women, the more likely they seem to be to go sleeveless, strapless, backless.  And it’s still only March.

Then the next day it rains, like today, and everyone covers up again and bemoans the passing of the summer.  And it’s still only March.

As it’s so lovely now though doors are being left open more often, children fly into the garden for a quick swing before school or fling down their school bags to run into the garden rather than come home.  The house has a bit of a fresh-air chill about it.

And then the rain comes and it beats down on the roof and it feels like we’re camping.  The rain is so close.  It really does feel as though we’re under canvas or just hiding in some wooden shack that’s barely protecting us from monsoon rains.  I love the feeling that you are snugly protected from the elements, but it does make me wonder about the insulation on the roof that we hear the rain quite so clearly.