I know these pairings make no literal sense whatever, so blame it all on Shepherds Bush because that's where they surfaced out of the murk of my subconsciousness and made their way to my temporal lobes.

There I am, hunkered down in the Tube ticket hall, sheltering from a biblical style downpour, watching the rain drops explode on the road and endless umbrellas bend inwards from squalling winds, when this brace of similes came to me - it was n't simply rain falling, it was gobbets of rain, gouts of rain

It's that barking, hard, abrasive G, I'm sure of it. It sounds like things being chopped up, or spat out, or the noise a road drill makes cutting the pavement up. That was the rain earlier this evening - all week in fact. Not a soft patter, or the shush of ballet pumps across the stage; no, it's been hellish, the tramp of endless jackboots, crash of shells. A mire of endless damp.

The Sun. Turn it on, tune it in, and light it up please.