Rainy Day today..

It smells like rain today – it is quite beautiful, the cashmere grey of it pervades the office. Many people look at me blankly when I sniff, smile and state ‘it smells like rain’. It is a difficult sensation to adequately describe. Often it hovers just on the edge of smell and registers as a tickle in the back of the nose. Semi burnt and grey, like wet concrete in the middle of the night is the only way really I can pay homage to it. There is probably a complex and long winded theorem as to what the smell actually is, but mythologically I know it is made of intangible elements. They would exist on no table and are immeasurable. Partly water soft as tears, part childhood memories of rain swept beaches and soggy fish and chips eaten under a towel.  A healthy dose of romanticism – first kisses and adventures – and the violent sudden shudder of lightening and thunder.

That is the smell of rain.

Caffeinated hell…

You know, I shall never fully understand the lure of Coffee. Yes it deserves that capital C. It has long been touted as the nectar of the hard working demi gods that stroll among us.

 Creative types – think artists, writers and other miscellaneous aesthetically based careers – have a tendency to drink affected little cups of espresso served up in darling little art deco cups. Totally original retro you know, not reproduction. Whereas business types barrel straight through on Lattes. Mochas and Cappuccinos, the ubiquitous white Styrofoam cup clutched like a safety shield in the face of recession. Not for them the plain cardboard styling’s of your local coffee house (yes, we have those in England now. Saints preserve us). And If you really want to go for it? I give you the hippy eco-conscious yummy mummy (who secretly shops at Harvey  Nics for her hemp lined fully sustainable underwear). Gripped in skinny hands are Chai teas, Green Teas and Peppermint infusions, sipped at like a mouse in church. You just know that eventually they will cave and gulp down buckets of black coffee that is strong as Hercules. But you know. We don’t talk about that.

 Anyway, back to the main point. I am rather wired here, at work, due to three cups of  coffee. The nasty stuff. My mouth tastes like the offspring of a particularly ammonia laden porta-loo and a moulting cat. No amount of polo’s will shift it. I am fairly certain at this point my tongue can be used as a biological testing ground. And for what?  An hour of high voltage activity followed swiftly by a plunge to earth that Icarus would be proud of? I fail to see the point. The blurry beginnings of a migraine is starting to circle the edges of my temples. The blame, I fear, is entirely caffeinated.

 Tomorrow I return to Peppermint Tea. Bring on the middle class hippy leanings, pretensions be damned.