I am reconciled to the rain. It makes the garden grow, it smells nice on pine needles and it washes Ruby for me. In fact, this morning I was feeling quite mellow about being drenched, as it was the first serious wetting I’ve had for some weeks, and also because BMW have finally cracked the fog-proof visor so I could actually see the road ahead.
On the downside, what was revealed in mist-free clarity was 40 miles of standing traffic. Does the rain bring out all the cars, like grateful wiggly worms? I have no objection to a bit of filtering, it’s one of the reasons I ride a bike, but by Junction 2 of the M6 my left hand had seized into a claw and my Foggy-esqe stare was scaring small children. As previously posited, I’m still of the view that cagers are getting better at moving out of the way (or at least not deliberately moving into it) though this positive sentiment does not extend to the girl in the hot hatch who spent 5 minutes fluffing her hair in the rear-view mirror while firmly astride the white line – in a moment of unsisterly churlishness I debated knocking on her window and explaining that it’s also good for showing vehicles approaching from behind –nor to Mr MPV who very unwisely decided to play Michael Schumacher to my Damon Hill and change his line several times in an attempt to keep me on his left quarter. Given that both my concentration and my patience had long been exhausted, and I’d already bounced a Metal Mule off a large HGV and won, he was putting a lot of faith in the future wellbeing of his wing mirrors.
While I’m having a whinge – it would also have been nice to have had a wave from Mr Sportsbike – I don’t mind people following in my wake, one of these days I’ll go the whole hog and fit a cowcatcher instead of a beak onto Ruby – but a small nod would have been appreciated.