Rain
Douglas Adams skriver i So Long and Thanks for all the Fish om en man som är en regngud utan att veta om det. Regnväder följer honom vart han än kör med sin lastbil fylld med termostatkontroller till element. Han tycker inte om regn. Men regnet älskar honom.
Since he had left Denmark the previous afternoon, he had been through types 33 (light pricking drizzle which made the roads slippery), 39 (heavy spotting), 47 to 51 (vertical light drizzle through to sharply slanting light to moderate drizzle freshening), 87 and 88 (two finely distinguished varieties of vertical torrential downpour), 100 (post-downpour squalling, cold), all the seastorm types between 192 and 213 at once, 123, 124, 126, 127 (mild and intermediate cold gusting, regular and syncopated cabdrumming), 11 (breezy droplets) and now his least favourite of all, 17.
Rain type 17 was a dirty blatter battering against his windscreen som hard that it didn't make much odds whether he had his wipers on or off.
He tested hist theory by turning them off briefly, but as it turned out the visibility did get quite a lot worse. It just failed to get better when he turned them back on.
In fact one of the wiper blades began to flap off.
[...]
And as he drove on, the rain clouds dragged down the sky after him, for, though he didnt know it, Rob McKenna was a Rain God. All he knew was that his working days were miserable and he had a succession of lousy holidays. All the clouds knew was that they loved him and wanted to be near him, to cherish him, and to water him.
Since he had left Denmark the previous afternoon, he had been through types 33 (light pricking drizzle which made the roads slippery), 39 (heavy spotting), 47 to 51 (vertical light drizzle through to sharply slanting light to moderate drizzle freshening), 87 and 88 (two finely distinguished varieties of vertical torrential downpour), 100 (post-downpour squalling, cold), all the seastorm types between 192 and 213 at once, 123, 124, 126, 127 (mild and intermediate cold gusting, regular and syncopated cabdrumming), 11 (breezy droplets) and now his least favourite of all, 17.
Rain type 17 was a dirty blatter battering against his windscreen som hard that it didn't make much odds whether he had his wipers on or off.
He tested hist theory by turning them off briefly, but as it turned out the visibility did get quite a lot worse. It just failed to get better when he turned them back on.
In fact one of the wiper blades began to flap off.
[...]
And as he drove on, the rain clouds dragged down the sky after him, for, though he didnt know it, Rob McKenna was a Rain God. All he knew was that his working days were miserable and he had a succession of lousy holidays. All the clouds knew was that they loved him and wanted to be near him, to cherish him, and to water him.
Kommentarer
Trackback