Staggered home, struggling for breath, and the rain came down while I was in a choked bus; idiot passengers deciding the risk of stray raindrops was greater than the risk of asphyxiation, escaped from closed window stifling into air so water-full I should have been trying to evolve gills. And the puddles! In the end I just waded through the ones on Cowley Road, though I skirted the ones on Randolph Street; the water wasn't clear, and god alone knows what was in it. Peeled off soaked clothes, glad of my plastic shoes that would dry well enough. The laptop wasn't really wet, my handbag's plastic had protected the palm and my sketchpads. Eyes full of acid rain but nothing ruined. Still, this tropical weather isn't me at all. I'm supposed to live in a temperate climate.
When it's this hot all I want to do is drink gin and be hateful.