Another favourite song:

It was a grey day, one of those murky, miserable mornings when you just don’t want to go to work. The heavy clouds raced across the sky and James had to pull his fleece jacket close.

He turned the corner into Procter Street just as the heavens opened.

“Aw, come on you guys. Give me a break will you. I didn’t bring my waterproofs today.”

James liked to talk to the weather as he rode. It made the journey to work more interesting, crossing Holborn, up Catton Street and along Fisher Street to Red Lion Square.

“Take a break will you rain, while I talk to the sun, just for a moment, please.”

Commuters beside him on the pavement stared at times as he chatted to himself. James didn’t care, he didn’t even notice. He was too absorbed in reprimanding the sun.

“I don’t like the way you’re behaving, sun. You’re sleeping on the job, you know. That’s getting my head wet. Sort it out.”

He stopped at the lights, pushing his cycle helmet back to wipe his face, as he started whistling.

“Well, I’m not going to cry about it,” he thought. “I’m not one to get the blues like that. After all, I’m as free as a bird. Nothing to worry about. Complaining’s not going to stop this rain anyway.”

The lights turned to green and he rode off, the rain easing. Perhaps the sun had listened after all.