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.

I had a sudden vision this morning of what my life might look like should I lose my job. Almost as if a curtain had been pulled open for just a few seconds, there it was, an image of me idling away long hours over the Guardian quick crossword in Shepherds Bush Costa Coffee. I habituate too easily to any situation and I could see myself making this a routine, but only if...

Costa Coffee should give me some sort of semi-recognition for loyalty; Shepherds Bush this morning, then their Hammersmith outlet late afternoon, where I had another unfamiliar experience. Busily scribbling away in a corner, sat a middle-aged woman, who in the pauses between writing seemed to be avidly scanning the other customers including me. For what, obviously remains a mystery. Inspiration ? Insight ? Jury's entirely open.