Insert Dragons

The grey light of the day was dirty and bleak, but the clouds tears still washed the pavement is saturation, rendering grey concrete a lush blue, a delicate violet, a vivid shimmering richness.

He was a stranger here, the rain was strange, the concrete slabs and low walls were different to his eyes. The blocks of flats and wide roads stood out to him like descriptive narrative in some middle England tale of romance or intrigue. Quite unreal, quite surreal that he should walk here is the full colour of the wet warm may time.

The rain spattered and patted onto the ground, it came in waves and the almost stopped. Almost. Sometimes at a word or phrase, as if conjured by the actions of someone, a great sadness, an imagined slight, the wind would gust and a torrent would squall from the heavens in great cables of doom. But this rarely lasted for long, fortunately.

He was dressed well for the rain, but badly for himself. A long waterproof coat, a sturdy large umbrella of the kind which has a separate cap and ever-so-slightly thicker arms. The same kind that is truly to large for one person, making it a hazard for passers by in the hands of shorter mortals. He was not one of these. He was tall and dry from rain, but at once to hot and oppressed by moisture. The wind was all lukewarm stifling breath.

England was a land of slight dissatisfaction, he saw. The weather was never dangerous, always curtious, but it was unpredictable and subject to whimsy, inconvenient and affected. It would allow you to grow complacent, and then ruin your job interview with an unexpected change.

But then again, it would burst with light and energy in the depths of winter too. So there was that. The weather was a fact of nature, but perhaps alike the institutions of this isle were born of its spirit, and not dissimilar.

A queen yes, but nominal, but also powerful, but only in theory. Democracy yes, but steeped in strange practices and traditions, with Rods and Dukes and inner secret chambers; with corrugated catacombs and special words with hidden meanings. Open secrets and hidden commonalities. Seemingly impossible, somehow functioning. Capitalist but socialist, but neither; but also both more than anywhere. The downpour of legislation fell on the population, and seemed harmless but uncomfortable, distracting but inconsequential, much talked about and never ever understood.

He began to think no one understood either. The weather report would state "scattered showers and sun" and all would nod and accept this trivial truth.

He turned a corner onto the main road.A car beefed a cyclist, the road was partly flooded with puddles and varied sized traffic. Trucks, bikes, a man on a mobility scooter waving his fist. Calm order, chaotic normality. Perhaps that's the trick to it, he wondered, unconvinced.

There is was, this is the place! He was not late, about 15 minutes early; which meant he was perhaps on time depending on the whim of those he was to meet. The glass buildings front had a revolving door, all the fittings were chrome and glass and new. The lights were soft and warm, and inside he could see the receptionist peering into a monitor as if completing some highly important project.

Leaving the weather behind he put a hand on the chrome and revolved his way into another part of the ever changing never changing heart.