The rain in Spain isn't in Spain, it's bloody well here!

It's a beautiful evening
I do fear though, that there won't be many more of its semblance what with the dreaded rainy season luming overhead, heaving clouds Japan-bound racing to add some precipitation to our lives.
I can take the cold, in fact I would admit that I much prefer Winter to Summer, winter leaving a whole lot more to the imagination, as opposed to Summer and its unkind exposure.
But the rain kills me.
I hate rain.
This may sound rich as I hail from possibly the rainiest place on earth but surely that only adds to the distain.
Rain distain.
Distain for rain.
Distain for bold rain pain.
Lain downtrodden with distain for rain pain.
(nuff of de poetree Captain)
Rain has interfered with my life for as long as I can remember.
I still have to stifle a snigger when people talk about family Barbeques, going camping, going on bike rides, going to the beach...."Good luck to you, it's going to pour on Saturday" was such an automated response that sometimes it almost escapes from me too.
Rain in Ireland is omniscent. It's the bastard diatator that insists upon a race of permanently sodden drenched individuals.
Every event as far as I can remember was announced with the hasilty added disclaimer "if it doesn't rain."
I think I went on one picnic as a child. We never went camping, despite the intense desire to be like all those americans on the telly, as that would mean being lucky enough to fall upon two consequtive sunny days. (also my mother couldn't see the point in it.."WHY, on my holiday would i want to sleep in a silly-looking tent the size of the small toilet, with no bed and no comfort? How is that a holiday? Haven't we a grand house for sleeping in? Can't we sleep just as well at home ?!" Right so Mammy.)
Far too many times, day trips to the beach ended with participants lumped in a car, looking out onto a wet seaside scene, crushed elbows protecting crushed sandwitches from hungry siblings and cousins.

And the smell of wet wool turns my stomach.
Think wool school uniform jumper, and polyster skirt.
Think being locked out of the school because the principal didn't want the floors to get all dirty.
"let ye all get out there now and'll do ye no harm.. aren't ye young for God's sake? ."
Think waiting for the bus in the rain. think sitting on a crowded bus, perhaps thirty heaps of saturation. Thirty sodden woolen jumpers...

and so ends the romantic ode to rain and to my childhood.
I hate thee rain, with the agravated passion of a depressed misanthropist.
Capito ?