fog fug

My cousin Cara and her boyfriend Julian arrive from the balmy Swiss / French border to stay with me for a few days. With classic timing a cold fog descends on the city like a hilarious meteorological joke then the heaven's open that evening. It's July, JULY!! In light linens they are wholly unprepared for the onslaught and while I think they enjoyed the mini-pub crawl to see some music and taste some ales, the rainy march home was pretty unpleasant for them. Somewhere along the way my scarf goes awry. I suspect a tourist went into survival mode and nabbed it as a frail means of cover.

Am wondering what the deified emperor and month-namer Julius Caesar would have made of all this. Is it time to rerain, I mean rename it? Drooply? Wetly? Disappointember?

Was lovely to catch up with Cara anyway, her boyfriend seems a good chap too (an employment law enforcer. I can't help feeling it's very very cool when they chat together in French. His reaction to being handed some orange squash was c'est manifique...