Sunday 3 August 2008

The rain it raineth every day. At least the rain has rained all of this day. It's raining, it's pouring, it's raining cats and dogs: every one of the cliches applies to today's downpour.

The flat is dark, but noisy with the sound of rain lashing down outside each of the six open windows. All of the internal doors are wide open as the torrential rain hasn't allowed the oppressive temperature to drop. Fresh air is definitely required even if it brings with it a musical accompaniment that sounds like a sopping wet symphony: splashes for the violin, sploshes for the cello, big fat drops for the bass drum, tinkling drips for the triangle and an ongoing deluge for the horns. The lack of light saps my energy and I feel bored, restless and mostly lethargic. My boyfriend is doing D.I.Y. in the garage, presumably he's building an ark as it looks like we'll need it. He has even grown a full, unkempt, biblical beard in preparation.

On Wednesday I ate several helpings of nostalgia pudding and wrote wistfully about my arrival in Guernsey three years ago when I moved here on a permanent basis. The weather then could not have been more different to today. It was warm, sunny and bright, picture postcard weather that could only reinforce the sanity of my decision to emigrate from London. My first lodgings then were beside the beach at Vazon and each morning I walked the length of the beach, sometimes on the sand, sometimes on the path (look out for horses) to catch the bus from outside Crabby Jacks.

It was a happy and healthy two months when I lived out in the pretty parish of the Castel, overlooking the west coast and the ever-changing sea, but as the light faded progressively faster as the evenings made their way into autumn I felt it would be wise to move closer to town and to the netball court where I had begun to spend most of my free time. That was how I ended up living in a corner of a gorgeous, stylish house in the Ville au Roi. By total coincidence the Ville au Roi is the only quarter of Guernsey that looks anything at all like England. Another rarity for the island is that the Ville au Roi's convenience store, Jeffrey's, stays open until midnight.

The sound of the rain is almost addictive. I am finding it impossible to devote more than my fingers to writing; my ears and brain are drawn to the concerto of water surrounding the flat. In a moment I shall handwrite a thank you card to my boyfriend's grandmother who took us and the rest of her extended family to lunch yesterday as a form of memorial to her husband, my boyfriend's grandfather, who passed away one year ago. Yesterday was a sad occasion, but it was still wonderful to see everyone and to enjoy each other's company. Life is way too short.


SC