Rainy season

I was pretty sure that the rainy season in Singapore was October to December, but it rained this morning before I got up, it rained when I went running, it came down in torrents as I walked to work, and as I walked home it was still bucketing it down. As I reached my apartment, the tops of the buildings around us were invisible in the clouds. Not exactly the 'drizzle' one of my colleagues had mentioned when he looked out the window.

Just like the Inuits are meant to have fifty words for snow, the British have 50 different words for complaining about the weather. Drizzle is one of those British types of precipitation, more than a mist but less than a proper shower, the kind of gloomy wetness that washes away the joy from your life a year at a time. The rain today was more like cats-and-dogs, although I've been away from England long enough that my rainfall sense may be miscalibrated.

I got home, shoes soaked, and spent the evening eating hummus. Or houmous. Or humoose. Honestly, I've given up trying to spell that chickpea-based dip. My wife ran up a load of it in the food processor last weekend, but unfortunately there's a minimum viable amount in the recipe, which turns out to be about a kilo. I'm doing my best to eat it before it goes off but there's only so much a boy can do. That, or I'll swell up on this high-calorie diet and not be able to fit through the office door by the end of the week.

Last night I couldn't sleep properly - I'd been coaxed into some Monday night gin and tonic frivolity, and so this morning I was pretty tired. No booze tonight, but I fuelled one of my other addictions: photoshopping different people's heads around on Facebook photos. Whoever said the devil makes work for idle hands was clearly predicting this, and nothing else.