bignoseduglyguy

The rich, warm, orchestral tones of Joni Mitchell plays while the day-long rain turns the water pooled on the deck effervescent and bubbling like a dull sparkling wine. The mild regret of a day’s chores hijacked by rain is balanced by the peace of mind that the rising water in our tank brings.

The damp of the day is kept at bay by the burnt ochre glow of the gas fire and the smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies hanging in the air.

On the sofa, the sections of the weekend paper are jumbled up with remote controls and cushions. Those cushions not on the sofa are on the floor, where they support the dozing forms of a black cat and a mood-drained teenager.

Behind the music, differing rhythms are played out by the raindrops; the constant gravel-crunch on the flat roof above versus the bigger irregular splashes on the bay window in the kitchen.

As the rain eases for the first time since dawn, the strings of Barber’s Adagio swell to mirror the sombre greyness of the sky, causing the teenager to stir and the cat to curl tighter.

Savouring the comfort and warmth of being submerged in the sofa is slowly giving way to the desire for tea and a cookie – but not just yet.

However, as soon as a hopeful thought of prolonging the moment occurs, the wail of the fire service siren calls the volunteers from their homes and the moment slowly dissolves. The teenager awakes and, inevitably, asks: are the cookies ready?