If you drive a car you photograph rain

Today was a series of drumbeat small events without much understroke but considerate of a rambling discourse. A pre-dawn yawn and squeak of bones as my cranky body, despite protest of tumbling down years, rose to meet the June day. A complexity of wakey-wakey things, riddled with routine, was attended to wonderfully surged with intent by a strong cup of coffee (Brazilian bean brew if you please). Ah, the world is always to rights after coffee, such is the mandatory inquest of my household wintry morning.

I looked at a car - not mine fortunately, as I detest such machines - with seething contempt and misanthrope. I was to drive this vile almost samp invention into the wilds of Melbourne City by taking a parent to a medical appointment. I rarely venture into that despotic place, even on public transport. But today, there was someone else with greater need than my haughty principal and to transport battle I went.

After 'buckling in' my passenger light rain started - Wagnerian visions of slippery roads, impatient drivers, reckless trams, multitudes of traffic lights set to red, sanctimonious cyclists to dodge and pedestrians to miss - came to the fore. Hang on a minute, I gasped, "I ain't got no Camera!" So, a detour back home, swooning with a few cusses. Never go outside (nor inside) without the camera (though I do make an exception in certain 'domestic ablutions' and 'distractions'). I'd better grab today's crossword to complete too, as I reckoned it'll be years within day waiting for the Doctor, to exam my parent and mangle the English language with incomprehensible mutterings in the process. On such 'enlightening visits', I always take with me the Concise Oxford just in case literal translations are required.

Melbourne traffic, at certain times of the day, can be quite agreeable when it crawls along at walking pace - let's build more freeways, knock down some more houses, tear up more public space, mash some history as long as we get MORE cars on the roads and public transport be dammed - only peasants and socialists use public transport anyway is the lingering mantra of the economic rationalists as they quaff on their lattes in overpriced Cafes. Actually, I had time to do the crossword in the car with my parent giving me the clue out loud and the number of letters in the word so required. For 'mild amusement' I played phonetics with the number plates of cars ahead of me - that one's ALPHA TANGO WHOCARES plus see if the number on the rego' plate can be worked back to a prime number: answer, rarely. I counted the vehicles with just one person (usually the driver, though the way some drove I did wonder as surely somebody on a wireless Internet connection was piloting the car from Chicago just for 'fun').

Arriving at our destination, I arranged for a Bank loan in order to pay for the parking fee and settled back to wait for my aged parent to go through the medical grist. One day, someone will tell me why Hospitals and their Consulting Rooms always have the thermostat set at 'high summer' and why the magazines on the tables are generally 12-18 months out of date. I mean, who in the least is interested in the latest Hollywood marriage bust up or SHOCK my Mother is Alien from the Planet 'Youhavetobekidding'. Even Time magazine, well the copy I came across, was 'reporting' on Bill Clinton's re-election in 1996 and that for some readers, Australia was thought to be a part of Central Europe, probably a Soviet satellite State. If I was not so modest and downright scared, I'd have worn my togs only, such was the perspiration that threatened a reservoir on my brow. It was dreadfully stifling but no window to open and I did not have my deluxe slingshot to 'punch a convenient hole' to let in some fresh air! Next time I'll bring a bucket of Ice and plunge my face in with sporadic dips of practicality.

Oh, did I forget to mention, before we left on the City expedition, it had started to rain - well it did, just a little before we spewed carbon monoxide and slicked along the untrustworthy bitumen. I had a photo idea too, as the car idled in the driveway (as you do). Take a flash photo of the rain and see what you get. What I got, you see.

After many hours, the driving duty was done and my passenger safely home. I was back using my plod feet to move about and the world was getting back to normal. The car had been sent into the garage sin-bin until its next release and I returned to being pleased I don't own one of these oil company subsidies in the first place.