I had to go out and about this morning, as you do. Wrapped up to the nines I was, with fleece under Berghaus (note how I’m a groovy brand concious dude). Anyway, sadly, said Berghaus only reached just past my groin and, though it’s entirely waterproof, the lashing rain had to go somewhere, that somewhere being my jeans. So, half sodden I was as I walked to get milk (can’t say cigarettes as I’m giving up).
Halfway down the hill – just by the cutting at the bottom of which is the railway station – the wind picked up. I had to cling to the railings for a couple of minutes as other pedestrians were whisked by me, up the hill, by their inside-out umbrellas. During this fence clinging episode I heard various crashing sounds, but thought nothing of them – you don’t do you? Gunshots I might have noticed, but even then, what with the wind and all, probably not.
So. The wind dies down and I continue walking. A little further down the hill, on the pavement, is a load of cement lumps and shards freshly blown off a building. Further on still and the entire signage for a grocery store lies across my path. I began to wonder, had I not clung to the railing for that short while, would I would have been mashed under it. Would I have become a lasting reminder of the decline of small grocery shops and foul British winter weather?