As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. We both agree that summer has come early.
But that’s about all we can agree on. I’m going to start calling him a cranky cat.
For the last week or so the temperature has been hovering in the low 30-degree Celcius mark, and we have been subjected to the constant aroma of smoke from bushfires raging north and south of us.
Normally, the hot weather doesn’t arrive until after the middle of November, and then the temperatures are around 30 degrees with moderate humidity.
Now, it is hot, with Sunday being about 36 degrees Celcius, and not a day to venture outside the airconditioning.
And, that’s where the cranky cat and I disagree.
He likes to sit at the back door and collect the breeze that flows from the front door to the back door and hates it when I run the airconditioning because I have the doors closed.
When that happens, he comes into the office and sits on the table next to the printer with his angry face on.
I figure using the printer might disturb his protest, but it doesn’t.
And to ignore him is at your own peril because, after a few minutes of silent protest, he comes over and starts pushing keys on the keyboard.
One day I expect he will type ‘you are a very bad servant’ for that I am.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
Was it too late to admit that I was way in over my head?
Of course, it should not come as a surprise that Jan would know of his alter ego if she was the friend she said she was. Her name was on that scrap of paper with part of the address, and I should have guessed.
Again, my lack of knowledge and training was letting me down.
Now it seemed I had both Severin and Maury, Nobbin and Josephine, and Jan all working against me.
He had more enemies that I did, which begged the question, what the hell was he in to? What could he possibly have found that was so damaging?
Perhaps I’d find that out if or when I found the missing USB drive.
In the meantime, I had to get back to the hotel before Jan did and try and keep a straight face.
But just as I started to put the seat belt on, another figure was walking from the road towards the front door. A man, tall, with a purposeful stride.
The light was still on so I would get to see who it was once he reached the door. Then I saw the front door open, and Jan standing in it. A second later I saw the face, just as he passed through the doorway and the door shut.
Severin.
She had lied. So, why was it making me so angry?
I should have realized the whole Maury thing was a setup. She hadn’t called her office, she had called Severin, and he can’t have been far away to get there in the time he had.
So, why didn’t he drag me off?
Easy. So I would see the need to keep working with Jan, and in doing so, when I found the USB I’d tell her, and the next minute I’d get whacked over the head, and lose it.
Damn.
I was being played like a finely tuned fiddle.
But at least I knew about the car and had removed any evidence and the letters that were left on the ground inside the door. It was something, and she would not find anything to help her, even if she knew he had a car. It meant I was one step ahead of her.
After thanking a last look at the block, I left. Better to find somewhere else to stay, just for tonight, and then go back to the hotel in Charing Cross and see if she returned.
I found a small hotel just off Bromley Road, a short distance down Avondale Road. Out of the way and unassuming, with car parking that couldn’t be seen from the main road. The late hour raised an eyebrow, but I used the excuse of getting in late from the airport. After all, it was 02:30 in the morning and I was surprised there was anyone available on the front counter.
He gave me a room tucked away in a corner where there was only one entrance, and I could see anyone coming. I wasn’t expecting anything, but just in case I had checked the car for a tracker.
None that I could find.
I needed sleep, but lying there staring at the ceiling, I replayed the arrival of Jan at the flat, followed by Severin. It was a reminder that I should not believe or trust anyone.
It reminded me of the words of one of the instructors who said, one morning, quite abruptly, that we were about to become the loneliest people in the world. If we trusted anyone, even if they were from our own side, it could mean one thing and one thing only. Death.
We could not and should not trust anyone.
We should not believe a word of anything anyone tells us.
We should not recruit anyone from outside the service because unless they could be fully vetted, they could be your undoing.
We could not have friends, and certainly no romantic interests otherwise they would be used as leverage against us.
It was the worse hour lecture we’d been given, and the instructor had told us he had left the best till last. It was time to decide whether we wanted to go on or bail. Several had.
Is it time to just go back and revisit the premise of the story?
…
The Betrayal Game: When Loyalty Becomes a Weapon
Imagine a world where the shadows hold more than just secrets; they hold grudges, ambitions, and the sharp edge of betrayal. A world where your unwavering loyalty, the very foundation of your existence, can turn you into a target. This isn’t just a hypothetical; it’s the chilling reality for one of the most dedicated operatives in the clandestine intelligence community.
We’re talking about a man whose life has been a silent testament to duty. He’s the gear in the machine, the ghost in the wire, the unseen protector. For years, he’s operated in the grey areas, sacrificing personal life, comfort, and often, safety, all in the name of the agency he serves. His methods are precise, his instincts honed, and his loyalty, seemingly, unshakeable. He is, to put it mildly, indispensable.
But even the most formidable machines can break down, especially when the gears start grinding against each other. Our operative, unknowingly, became a pawn in a much bigger, far more personal game. Behind the hushed corridors and coded messages, a ruthless struggle for the ultimate leadership of the agency was brewing. Ambitious players vied for control, and in their brutal, no-holds-barred Ascent, our man became… collateral damage. A convenient casualty, a loose end, almost erased from existence in a brutal move designed to send a message, or simply to clear the board.
He survived. Barely. Recovering from wounds that went deeper than just flesh and bone, he’s a ghost of his former self, haunted by the very agency he swore to protect. In what seems like a gesture of conciliation, or perhaps a means to keep him out of the way, he’s assigned a new mission. Something “less strenuous,” a chance to heal, to find his footing away from the cutthroat politics. A quiet assignment, perhaps a desk job with a view, a gentle ease back into the fold.
But in the world of espionage, nothing is ever truly quiet.
Upon arrival at his new posting, the cold, hard truth hits him like a physical blow: his cover is blown. Not a mistake, not an accident, but a deliberate act. And the reason? His “less strenuous” mission is a lie. It’s a second task, layered beneath the first, directly connected to the very internecine war that nearly cost him his life. He’s been sent out to the wolves, tasked with a role that will force his hand, make him choose a side, or perhaps, ensure his final, definitive removal.
The choice is stark. Scrub the mission, disappear into the anonymity he never wanted, and try to forget the betrayal. Or stay, walk into the fire, knowing that every step is watched, every move predicted, and every ally a potential enemy. After all he’s been through, after being used and discarded, what would compel him to stay? Perhaps it’s that very loyalty, twisted and battered, refusing to break. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the burning need for answers, for justice, for a reckoning.
He stays.
Meanwhile, the stage is being set for the final act. Across the globe, the orchestrators of this brutal power play are converging. London, usually a city of quiet diplomacy and historic charm, is about to become the epicenter of a clandestine war. The players, the schemers, the puppet masters – they’re all assembling. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the very future of the agency, perhaps even global stability, hangs in the balance.
What becomes of the loyal operative caught in the crossfire? Can one man, betrayed and broken, navigate a labyrinth of deceit when his very presence is a target? And as the pieces fall into place in London, will our hero be able to influence the outcome, or is he merely destined to be the final, tragic piece in their deadly game?
The game is on, and for our man in the field, there’s no turning back.
There’s nothing like being a few days early or a few days late for a major festival.
We have the dubious honour of being able to do both without thinking. I guess this is why you should try to plan your holiday around events, if possible.
We love Italy.
We’ve been several times, but the last visit was the best. Of course, it was not without a lot of hiccups just getting there, but in the end, later than we expected, actually about five minutes before they closed Florence airport, we made it.
So, little did we know there was such a thing as Calcio Fiorentino an early form of football and rugby that originated in 16th-century Italy and is thought to have started in the Piazza Santa Croce in Florence. But we were in Florence, at the right time, and even got to see the procession through the streets of Florence.
We were not so lucky in Siena where we were about a week early for the Palio di Siena which was to take place on 2nd July.
Nor were we in Arezzo at the right time for the Saracen Joust which was held on the penultimate Saturday in June. It is held at the Piazza Grande in the heart of Arezzo and is one of the most beautiful piazzas in Tuscany.
The Piazza Della Liberta and the Town Hall tower
The Piazza Grande, also known as Piazza Vasari, is said to be situated on the site of the ancient Roman Forum. Here, it is being set up for the coming Joust.
A different view of Arezzo Cathedral | Cattedrale dei Santi Pietro e Donato
This is my least favored option for spending a Sunday morning, but having married a Catholic and agreeing to adopt Catholicism, it’s one of those things that has to be done on rare occasions, usually a child’s milestone.
Yes, we went through our children’s moments like baptism, first communion, and confirmation, or these days in a somewhat different order. Then it came to the turn of our grandchildren and today the last child is making her first communion, and there will end our involvement till the last rites.
Hopefully.
Church to me doesn’t hold any real significance. It doesn’t mean that I would debunk the idea of religion and I firmly believe that if anyone believes in God, then that’s their right.
And it seems there are a lot of believers. I’m sitting in the church now and it is packed. It might be that it’s a captive audience given that it’s a first communion for grade three students and others. but given the enthusiasm of the children involved, I’d say the church was about to get over a hundred new followers.
Of course, a lot depends on the enthusiasm and devoutness of the parents who may wish to spend their Sundays in a different manner, but I suspect there are many here who will continue their devoutness in some form or other.
As for me, sadly, I will continue to use the only day of the week it’s possible to sleep in.
As part of a day tour by Very Tuscany Tours, we came to this quiet corner of Tuscany to have a look at an Italian winery, especially the Sangiovese grapes, and the Chianti produced here.
And what better way to sample the wine than to have a long leisurely lunch with matched wines. A very, very long lunch.
But first, a wander through the gardens to hone the appetite:
And a photo I recognize from many taken of the same building:
Then a tour of the wine cellar:
Then on to the most incredible and exquisite lunch and wine we have had. It was the highlight of our stay in Tuscany. Of course, we had our own private dining room:
And time to study the paintings and prints on the walls while we finished with coffee and a dessert wine.
And of course, more wine, just so we could remember the occasion.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Is it time to just go back and revisit the premise of the story?
…
The Betrayal Game: When Loyalty Becomes a Weapon
Imagine a world where the shadows hold more than just secrets; they hold grudges, ambitions, and the sharp edge of betrayal. A world where your unwavering loyalty, the very foundation of your existence, can turn you into a target. This isn’t just a hypothetical; it’s the chilling reality for one of the most dedicated operatives in the clandestine intelligence community.
We’re talking about a man whose life has been a silent testament to duty. He’s the gear in the machine, the ghost in the wire, the unseen protector. For years, he’s operated in the grey areas, sacrificing personal life, comfort, and often, safety, all in the name of the agency he serves. His methods are precise, his instincts honed, and his loyalty, seemingly, unshakeable. He is, to put it mildly, indispensable.
But even the most formidable machines can break down, especially when the gears start grinding against each other. Our operative, unknowingly, became a pawn in a much bigger, far more personal game. Behind the hushed corridors and coded messages, a ruthless struggle for the ultimate leadership of the agency was brewing. Ambitious players vied for control, and in their brutal, no-holds-barred Ascent, our man became… collateral damage. A convenient casualty, a loose end, almost erased from existence in a brutal move designed to send a message, or simply to clear the board.
He survived. Barely. Recovering from wounds that went deeper than just flesh and bone, he’s a ghost of his former self, haunted by the very agency he swore to protect. In what seems like a gesture of conciliation, or perhaps a means to keep him out of the way, he’s assigned a new mission. Something “less strenuous,” a chance to heal, to find his footing away from the cutthroat politics. A quiet assignment, perhaps a desk job with a view, a gentle ease back into the fold.
But in the world of espionage, nothing is ever truly quiet.
Upon arrival at his new posting, the cold, hard truth hits him like a physical blow: his cover is blown. Not a mistake, not an accident, but a deliberate act. And the reason? His “less strenuous” mission is a lie. It’s a second task, layered beneath the first, directly connected to the very internecine war that nearly cost him his life. He’s been sent out to the wolves, tasked with a role that will force his hand, make him choose a side, or perhaps, ensure his final, definitive removal.
The choice is stark. Scrub the mission, disappear into the anonymity he never wanted, and try to forget the betrayal. Or stay, walk into the fire, knowing that every step is watched, every move predicted, and every ally a potential enemy. After all he’s been through, after being used and discarded, what would compel him to stay? Perhaps it’s that very loyalty, twisted and battered, refusing to break. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the burning need for answers, for justice, for a reckoning.
He stays.
Meanwhile, the stage is being set for the final act. Across the globe, the orchestrators of this brutal power play are converging. London, usually a city of quiet diplomacy and historic charm, is about to become the epicenter of a clandestine war. The players, the schemers, the puppet masters – they’re all assembling. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the very future of the agency, perhaps even global stability, hangs in the balance.
What becomes of the loyal operative caught in the crossfire? Can one man, betrayed and broken, navigate a labyrinth of deceit when his very presence is a target? And as the pieces fall into place in London, will our hero be able to influence the outcome, or is he merely destined to be the final, tragic piece in their deadly game?
The game is on, and for our man in the field, there’s no turning back.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Well, isn’t it just like you to rain on my parade?
Yes, and don’t we need a lot of rain because of the bushfires that are burning out of control?
Rain is that stuff that falls from the sky, sometimes at the awkwardest of times, like when you leave your umbrella in the car.
And rain can be a problem in sub-zero temperatures and high winds when it almost takes on the form of multiple miniature knives. Rain and snow together, sleep, but that’s something else.
Of course, it could always rain cats and dogs, a rather interesting occurrence if it ever happened.
This should not be confused with the word rein.
As any horseperson would know this is what helps control a horse
But, it doesn’t have to be a horse, it might be that you are told to rein in your attack dog
Or rein in your excesses
Or alternatively, give a person free rein to go about their business.
Then there is reign, that period of time when a monarch rules, and it seems in England women hold the record for the longest reign, Queen Victoria, and Queen Elizabeth II
That’s distinct from the office oligarchs who seem to think they reign over the plebs