But that doesn’t mean that our eyes will soon be turning red. It just means that our shoes have started smelling like swamps, and that our fingers have gained a striking resemblance with well dried raisins.
The heavy clouds that has claimed Tromsø as their home have somehow teleported Dionne Warwick (or Burt Bacharach) and Tina Turner (or if it is Ann Peebles) into my head. My music taste has never been profound or up to date, but now I just have two songs (or actually two phrases) playing on repeat in my head. Over and over again. It drives me a bit crazy, but I grew up with sleazy jazz and I kind of like Dionne Warwick. So I can actually stand the rain. As those raindrops keep falling on my helmet, I hum along and enjoy the view.