The first word I said this morning upon walking out the door was, "gross." The mist was coming down like...I don't know...my mom would say pea soup...but I don't know if that translates to me quite the same. It's not like it's raining...it's just...wetting. It's wetting. It's like England. It's just wet...wetness. It's wet so much in England that the world smells kind of mildewed sometimes. This morning reminded me of about 75% of the mornings I spent in London.
I walked from my house to the tube over this hill, and I would try to imagine myself geographically. I was not on a huge continent, but rather a small island. I imagined a cloud covering the entirety of the island...often it was a cloud of smog (but those were good because they trapped in the heat of the city..YES!). It was easier to imagine myself on an island when there were seagulls flying overhead. I pushed my hands into my pockets and tucked my nose under my scarf (eventually you give up on the umbrella and accept the fact that you will be getting wet). On heavy traffic days, I got to race the bus over the hill to the Tube bus stop. I would give everyone crammed into the double-decker bus a sly sideways glance as I used the gift of my legs to overtake them.
By the time I got to April, the street sweepers were out at the same time, desperately trying to dispell the "myth" that Haringey was the "dirtiest burough in England." Then, past the street sweepers and down the steps to the Underground I would go...
So, I say...What is this nonsense? My birthday's coming up. Let's get the sun back in here.