29 November 2011


In a desperate effort to secure some of the undoubted benefits of running, and when I had finished the urgent outstanding matters that had to be dealt with today, I put on running shorts, tee shirt, and (partly in the interest of speed, and to preserve my calf muscles) shoes and socks, then looking at the weather, added a waterproof jacket, and headed out.
My leaving home coincided with the start of the hitherto-unknown local monsoon season. The roads were awash, so there was hardly a dry patch on which to place my feet. I hadn't even reached the postbox (where I entrusted two FT crossword puzzles to the Royal Mail, or as the Postal Services Act would have it delivered them to the post office) before my shoes and socks were soaked. I thought I could still manage a few laps of the playing field, but when I got there the driving rain was so thick it could have been fog and the wind was enough almost to stop me in my tracks. I reckoned the long grass would be so wet, I might as well have been running through a few inches of water, so I turned round and the wind carried me home.
By the time I'd dried myself off the rain had stopped, of course.

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