The rain falls down on last year’s man….
It poured all morning. At one o’clock I got up from my chair and went running for five miles in the most hostile conditions I’ve yet encountered on a run. It took, I suppose, a minute or two for the torrent to penetrate my jacket, and to seep through my hat. From that point on I felt completely liberated by the pain of it. Adversity can be exhilarating if you choose to spit in its eye.
I ran for two miles along the wild A4. It was a maelstrom. The rain came down in buckets, the wind and the traffic whistled around my ears. Every ten seconds an articulated lorry appeared like something emerging from hell, dumped another heavy puddle on me and roared on. Every one of these juggernauts seemed to tear at my clothes as it passed, and for once I was glad to be overweight. A few pounds lighter and I’d have been lifted off my feet and blown over the hedge into the flooded fields.
It was quite thrilling, and I spent much of the time screaming with laughter. I was soaked through, so what did it matter?
After two miles I turned off the main road and headed down to the canal. The rain continued, but at least it was quiet again. It was time to give my new MP3 player a run-out. We’d been to see Jez Lowe again on Saturday. This guy is one of my favourite songwriters, and I’ve been following him on and off for years. At one point he went off on a monologue about Leonard Cohen, and I realised I’d not listened to any of his early music for years. So today, as I trudged along the tow path, with six inches of mud trying to suck the shoes from my feet, I listened to a load of those early songs. It’s still mesmerising.
Here I am. Winter. The deluge is remorseless. A gale blows. The cool rain runs down my back. Panting for miles through deep mud, along a swollen, grey canal. Listening to Leonard Cohen singing Last Year’s Man and Famous Blue Raincoat.
What I found today wasn’t everyone’s idea of heaven.
But then I’m not everyone.
