A Snapey Sort of Day

Blood of 5.4 this morning.
In other news, the Second Coming of the Lord was announced today by the biggest freaking deluge since Noah and the gang went mountain-surfing.

Now then...Walking in the rain...Two words:

Fuck...

NO!

That is to say, I always used to enjoy walking in the rain, in the days when I thought, to paraphrase Steven Moffat, that sad was "happy for deep people". And indeed, sometimes still today I enjoy a good meander in the rain (as I've mentioned once or twice during the course of this experiment), but on days like today, when the raindrops feel like freezing bully-fingers - no. After all, that's why I have a big-ass bike taking up half my living room; precisely so there's an alternative to traipsing through the pissing-down rain, and/or the snow, or the plague of frogs if need-be.

Today though has been precisely the kind of washed-out, mean-eyed, Snape-spirited day to try the patience of saints, and as I think we can all agree, I'm not one at the best of times.

The kind of pissing-down watercolour day on which your office is pretty much guaranteed to have a fire drill, meaning you're forced to stand about getting soaked while your existence is confirmed. The kind of day when every single option in the canteen brings its own practically morbid level of horribleness into your life. The kind of day when, if you're d, your lurgi descends to new levels of Voldemort-croaking, cough-till-you-nearly-pass-out crimson-faced grimness, and where, if you're me, a simple trip from a doorway to a bus-stop makes one of your favourite tee-shirts so soggy you put a thumb through it trying to pluck it off your frozen-flabbed frame.

I finally got on the bike when we got home, but tonight it wasn't a jolly romp through calorific dissolution. Tonight it was a slog through evil-fuckery, the bike growling and laughing simultaneously at my numb, protesting limbs. I finished my 500 calories, and then did what Denis Leary calls "the fuck-you dance," flashing V-signs at the illuminated screen.

It wasn't till I came out of the shower that the whole thing clicked into place.
"It is wrong to be craving oatmeal?" said d.
"Thankyou!" I breathed, relieved that apparently, it wasn't too stupid to say.
"Day hasn't felt right cos we didn't come home and have oatmeal." - We'd gone and had chicken instead, in case you're enthralled by such details.
"If I go make some, will you turn off the computer and come to bed?" she croaked at me, faux-seductively. I nodded, and she disappeared. A series of distant coughs later, she came bearing bowls. And as I gobbled down the gloopy glorious stuff, the warmth of it worked where everything else - and there's been plenty of good news today, incidentally - had failed. The world feels better now, with a weekend ahead and inspiration for writing re-inspired by my fellow Disappearing Friend, Tig, and Other Stuff to do that will make our world materially better.

See - don't underestimate the power of porridge, it makes the world a warmer, nicer place. Eat more porridge...
Just a suggestion.