Drenched to the skin...

In Douglas Adams' novel, So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish, it continually rains on long distance lorry driver, Rob McKenna, wherever he happens to go. It transpires that, rather than having something to do with meteorological changes, it rains on him because he is a rain God and the clouds want "to cherish Him and to water Him".

I love running in the rain. There's something quite exhilarating about being drenched to the skin. I look forward to the opportunity of running in the rain but, surprisingly for Wales, the opportunity has not presented itself that often. In the last 4 years I can count on one hand the number of times where I have worn my weather proof running jacket because of the rain. I have worn it to protect me from the wind and cold on numerous occasions but rarely to protect me from the rain. Clearly, unlike Rob McKenna, I am not a rain god.

I was beginning to think the same must be true whenever I go cycling. I have cycled into work nearly every day since Easter and have never got wet. That is not to say that it hasn't rained since Easter. Far from it. But at about 8am for half an hour and, similarly, at about 5pm for half an hour it has been fairly dry in Cardiff. I was beginning to think that God in his heaven was smiling on me.

Until tonight. I hadn't travelled that far from work when I felt the first few heavy spats and within a minute or two it was hammering down. It soon became clear that the nylon weatherproof jacket I was wearing would be of little use. I battled on - there seemed little point in stopping. This downpour was of monsoon stature: drains overflowed, rivulets ran down the pavements whilst people dressed for the summer scattered squealing in all directions.

I progressed at a steady pace through the desserted and flooded pavements of Lloyd George Avenue. My trousers had stuck to my legs and my shirt was dripping under my jacket. My shoes squelched and the water ran through my hair and down my face and into my eyes and mouth. I stopped at a set of lights next to another cyclist. We looked at each other and both started laughing at the situation. There was nothing to do but enjoy it.

My original intention was to cycle over to the pool for a swim but I was hardly in any state to do that. By the time I reached the Bay, all I was ready for was a glass of red wine. Dripping, I stripped in the kitchen, throwing my sodden work clothes straight into the washing machine. Now, where's that wine?