Seventh March Blog. 16-3-15?
More water, but not sea this time.
The city streets shone with heavy rainfall. It was sheeting down, gutters flooded with the runoff where the drains were failing to cope with three days of solid downpour. Night time lights shimmered, reflected in the wet: reds, oranges, blues, yellows and greens. Raindrops danced in the evergrowing puddles, changing the reflections, causing them to radiate in a totally different from their nemeses. Black of night interspersed with red, yellows, blues, oranges and greens in variagated patterns, veritable Picasso, that ancient artist, on a blacktop canvas.
Cars flashed past gaudy shops, sprays from whizzing wheels spraying walkers and shop front windows, wet dirt drizzling down plate glass. Umbrellas were useless, passengers entering a carrier became soaked. A taxi drawing up to passengers, sprayed legs and feet without selection?.i A veritable deluge, unwanted, uninvited, fell to this corner of Cardor. Rainwear sold at all time high prices. The population spent small fortunes on keeping dry, at all costs. Tomorrow may be dry, but tomorow may never come.
The wet weather store, along the street, was about to close. It had been a busy few days. Money flowed like Dosit Juice. The seller began to pull down the shutters, grumbling as he did so about getting soaked. Erdone Pentarint emerged wearing the latest, driest boots he could afford. What was the point of holding on to what he had when without the boots, he could contract the fungus that would eat him alive, feet upwards. No! They were well worth the price. He stepped into the road, proving that his decision was the best he had made. It might have been a narrow escape. His feet were already damp. Still, a bath in curalik when he got home would probably sort that query out. He had sprays for the boots. The fungus no longer feared, he stepped jauntily into the road, hailing a transport as he did so.
Went shopping today, just odds and ends. Coming home, we were caught in a humungous traffic queue. As my companion said, lots of jam, but none of it strawberry.
Huge lorries piled along to our left ( offside) , defying us to pass them. Sometimes we did. More often than not, they passed us. It was stop go, stop go all the way along to the roundabout.
We were just a few feet from the exit when a small Post Office van to our left ( offside again) suddenly came across our bows, getting in front of our car and heading through the green light. We voiced a couple of expletives, as he just waltzed across, no by your leave, nothing. We moved up to cross, and the lights turned orange. Needless to say, the driver got called a few other things as we ohad to wait until the next turn on this large roundabout with four exits, until the lights finally went green again.
We still wondered why the big holdup! The motorway was running like clockwork. No holdups, eveything flowing smoothly. So what, you may ask, was the holdup? All we could see was the traffic piling along across the roundabout, going straight ahead. Iften a holdup point in the mornings and evenings, but lunchtime, and as bad as it was today. As I said, no rhyme nor reason could be gleaned. This is what can happen in a very urban roadway where many roads interconnect.
The weekend is coming, dear people. Do have a grwat weekend, going out, just lazing, whatever.
And pkease take care.