And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings...

Let's discuss the weather.

It's raining today. Started off a bit grey and gloomy, but quickly developed into heavy, pregnant clouds and now the window before me is peppered with light dashes of rain, rapidly getting more frequent. This is only interesting (this being England, after all) because the last couple of weeks have been positively Mediterranean. The sun was out, the air was humid and the ice cream cart was out near where I work. Of course, this meant I scurried from shade to shade and watched the summer people drift by lazily in their sunglass- and sandal-clad groups to enjoy the beautiful (and rare) weather. Now the air is soft and humid and the light is grey with nary a silver lining in sight. And somehow I feel better, more like writing. I actually find that when it's grey and rainy, properly rainy, with misty fields and dripping eaves and the smell of wet leaves and damp earth (or concrete), the weather tickles at my mind, makes me jittery and ready to be creative. Inspiration scratches round the edges of my consciousness and snuffles at my free time, reminding me every so often that it would be fun to do some writing, wouldn't it?

Whereas in the sun, I am productive in real world ways, involving unpacking some of the boxes of the move, or going into town. I am also unproductive in time-wasting ways, playing 'Red Dead Redemption' being this week's example. The problem is, I have a million and one non-writing and non-gaming things to be doing that need to be done really quite urgently, but instead, that dozy little bit of my brain that likes to write has woken up and wants to be going. Perhaps the important things I have to do can wait for a day...