It never rains

As predicted, the weather has turned. It's still dry, but there's a nip in the air in the mornings that masks an unpleasant humidity. Cycling to work leaves you hot and sticky, yet strangly chilled. Nice. Over the weekend, the heavy breezes brought down most of the blossom from the trees and piled it up in deep drifts by the sides of the street. The canals were also carpeted in a thick layer, leaving houseboats looking as if they were marooned in a cornfield rather than floating on the water.



I guess I should be grateful that it hasn't rained for several weeks, but unsurprisingly, I'm not. The dryness, light winds, and blossom are all combining to make the daily commute something of a pain -- literally and figuratively. The dust kicks up into my eyes, leaving them red and streaming. Maybe this is why the Dutchies cycle so badly -- they're blinded by the tears pouring down their faces, rendering them incapable of seeing other bikes, cars, dogs, and small children. Typically, my eyes start playing up midway between work and home, with no way of stopping to remove my contact lenses and free the dirt trapped under them. I know I should start carrying my glasses with me, along with a spare lens case, but on top of my ever-present rain pants and jacket (just in case)? Too much. I'll just press on, resembling a test beagle in a cigarette factory.