The World's Rainiest Indian

This morning, Perry and I splished through the rain to Richmond Station, where we met-up with old friend Rich, before the three of us crossed the road to go and doss in Starbucks for an hour.

After that, we headed round the corner to stuff down a pub lunch.

Then we squelched around the town centre window-shopping, before escaping the ongoing rain by camping down in a café.

Then we splashed back to Perry's for some serious couch-potatoing with more hot coffees in front of Prisoner And Escort and Batman & Robin.

After that, I actually did some work. I nipped back to my place for a dry pair of shoes and socks, before paddling back to Perry's. Rich had gone on ahead of us, so Perry and I waded through yet more rain chewing over yet more old times.

We found Rich in another pub with John, which gave way to a couple more rounds of chilled nothingness, before we swam up the alley for the day's highlight – a curry.

Actually I think I had a korma. It didn't really matter. Nothing mattered today.

After John had put on his frogsuit and left, we front-crawled back to Perry's place, where it was time for me to bid him and Rich goodnight, and catch the last submarine home.

As days go, it was hard to fault this one.