I love waking up to find it’s rained the night before. The world is discovered in shades of dramatic expression. The cool air persuasive, whispering caresses on the leg peeping out beneath the folds of duvet. The road a sullen, sodden grey. The sky blooming bright and so alive, whilst beneath its lordly station quivering clumps of cloud sail languidly past. And the rest… The rest pale, wither, exist. The ceaseless gliding cars, towering flats of tiny black windows trapping infinite, invisible lives – all in interminable, dreamless sleep.