I feel so bad for the man with the storm cloud above his head.

I met him on Sunday night. He was standing opposite me with rain trickling down his long, black coat. Fresh, bubbly rain. He looked at me and said "looks like rain again..." And I turned away from the TV for a moment and agreed, perfectly dry.

I don't know what he did in the past or the future to deserve the unpleasant lingering of a particularly busy rain cloud. It must have been pretty bad though so I'm going to try harder to watch my Ps and Qs from now on. I get sick of the grey days as it is but at least I know that it's dull everywhere, for everyone and that there's a chance that it will be a juggling-in-the-park day tomorrow

But for storm cloud Carl, it's grey everyday.

The wind wants my new hat. I won't give it up because I like it.

It might be nice to be swept away with the wind. I'd like to be picked up and flown somewhere. Or nowhere in particular. I could just keep flying, gliding on the gusts. I could split into a million little dots and be lifted here and there and into peoples eyes, up their noses and into their ears. I could sit in their bags for a little bit until I'm free and I'm away ZoooooooooooM. I could fly over their heads and grab their hats as they walk to the shops "dammit-I LIKed that hat!" And then I'm away again flying whoooooOOOSH. I would run up to the shoppers as fast as I could, throw my weight into my shoulder and try to scoop them up with me, so that I didn't have to be on my own, as tiny dots. I don't think I would get empty crisp packets or the sports pages or bin bags. I wouldn't touch lorries on bridges or ferries at sea.