It’s one of those wet mornings where you can hear the gentle pattering of rain on the rooftop, and on the leaves of the trees outside the window.
The dark grey clouds inhibit the sun, keeping it unnaturally dark inside, enough to trick you into thinking you have more time to sleep, ignoring the fact the clock beside the bed is telling you the exact opposite.
That could be a problem if you have a day job.
But, today is Sunday, and it’s just what I need.
Time to mull over the latest storyline, marshal my thoughts, write the prose in my head.
OK, that not working for me.
The rain is getting heavier, and is splashing outside; the steady waterfall of overflow from the gutters is taking away my concentration.
Rain, rain, go away …
I have two different visions.
A cold, grey day in London (is there any other sort of day?) waiting for a train, and seeing the woman of your dreams go past, standing in the doorway, and in that fraction of a second your eyes meet and a connection is made, just before the doors close and the train departs.
I suspect it has fuelled many a song such as ‘The Look of Love’.
The second is on a desolate section of coastline as for north as you can go in Scotland (yes, I am a glutton for punishment), and she is standing on the cliff top gazing out to sea, hair blowing in the wind. Silent, strong, resolute.
The rain falls harder, and going outside is not an option.
Notes hastily scribbled in a notebook for later reference.
Time to curl up on the couch with a mug of soup and watch an old movie!