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Furry Earflaps and Fairie Lightfoot


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Monday: Paul Arden
Tuesday: Harps
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Ronan's report

Sunday 23rd December, 2012

It’s raining again. Has been for forty-eight hours. All the fields are full of new casting ponds, and the rivers are raging. The wind is blowing too, a nippy kind of wind from the southeast. It’s the kind of wind that buffets a clamour of rooks across the road and over the trees, like ashes blown from a fire. It has you reaching for that padded tweed hunter’s hat with the furry earflaps that you can tie down to stop it flying off. The tweed pattern echoes the rich browns and yellows of the hills.

I do like the rain. Most of all I love its sound. The single flat splat of a drop on a pavement. The ascending ssssssssSSSSHHHHH of a shower pushing upstream towards you. Reach for your hood now, and hunker down.

The sound of heavy rain on a well battened-down hood can be almost deafening, each sudden drop thwacks the goretex with a deeply piercing and weighty thud, and a downpour sounds like thrash metal: not particularly pleasant in itself but strangely energizing. You grin and shout at the top of your voice "THIS IS AMAZING, ISN’T IT?"

The best rain sound, though, is that of raindrops on canvas. Ideally you’ll be zipped up in a warm and comfy sleeping bag, probably half awake and listening to the sound of your own breathing.


...Then again. Tic.

Single drops, followed by the pattering of fairie lightfoots skittering around thirty inches above your face. Bury yourself a little deeper in the sleeping bag.

Lay there, lulled by the soporific.



Pic Of Day



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