I don't know what B.J. Thomas was smoking, but I want some.
I swore I was not going to blog about the weather again but, the RAIN! The rain WON'T STOP!
Southern England is flooding, again, and what ground is not flooded is saturated with water. Walking next to the streets here (where there are no pavements, i.e. sidewalks) means squishing along, hoping when the shoe manufacturer claimed your shoes were "waterproof" they really had tested them in the proving grounds of England after 40 days of rain.
Forty days? Or thirty-nine? Who's counting?
Our summer of showers turned into a fall of alternating drizzle and downpours, and I expect a winter of sleet and snow is on its way. I'm trying not to obsess too much, but chains have been ordered for our car and I've sharpened the snow shovel. Just in case.
I hear there's a drought still going on in the US. The problem is that we got America's share of precipitation. Perhaps the two countries should consider a treaty, a precipitation exchange.
I swear to God I'm going to slit my wrist—with my snow shovel—if this doesn't stop soon.
Oh yes, "the blues they send to meet me" may just defeat me, if these damn raindrops don't stop fallin' on my head.
It won't be long till happiness steps up to greet me. I call bullshit. Or else Jamaican High Grade.