And The Rains Came Down.

Hello, dear readers!

Rain? Again? Didn't you already post about your adventures in the rain Mr Seated Perspective?

Well yes I did, but as I live in the north of England, a place not exactly known for its balmy climate, you may find that inclement weather features in my scribblings from time to time, even in the so called summer time.

So, to set the scene. This last Sunday saw The Mirfield Show, a local event featuring a number of stalls run by local business and charities, livestock shows, tents full of local produce and handicrafts and for some reason a Kendo stick martial arts demonstration. I had arranged to meet the Mrs and my lovely Step-Daughter after they had finished at church (as a non-believer it's not really my bag, so most of the time I leave them to it.) and as I set off, dog in tow, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and nary a cloud lay in sight to blemish this idyllic view.

This continued throughout the day. It was the case as I waited for the wife to finish off her stint of face painting (her Batman was very good, her Spiderman a mite wonky). It was the case as we tucked in to venison burgers for spot of late lunch. It was even the case when we left the show and popped into the mother-in-law's for a cup of tea to prepare us for the mile long uphill trek back home. In fact it wasn't until roughly half that distance had been covered before I pointed out a particularly menacing bank of cloud that had appeared on the horizon and it wasn't until ten more minutes had passed that the first fat drops of rain hit us.

When it came though, oh boy did it come! It drove down with such incessant fury that we soon realised it was a waste of time rushing to reach the warmth and shelter of home. There is a point where one is as wet as one can get and any attempt to fend off the rain or rush through it become an exercise in futility.

So it as that we trudged in, thoroughly soaked but in strangely high spirits. It shouldn’t really have surprised us that the weather turned so dramatically as, not twenty four hours earlier, we had attended the closing ceremony of the Yorkshire School of Christian Arts, a summer school with a decidedly religious bent (To support the aforementioned Step-daughter.) and the rains that came down that afternoon were of, well I suppose you'd say biblical proportions. In fact the event had to be called off as the rains didn't just come down but also in, running down the walls, soaking the floors and shorting the electronics. Despite the efforts of the organisers (and lots of prayers, naturally) it was eventually decided a day should be called to protect the students.

Ok, you say, so far, so what? Well there has been an unfortunate side effect to these semi aquatic adventures. A strange smell has permeated the Seated Perspective household these last few days. An odour not unlike stale sweat. There has been many accusations levelled as to the origin of this stench, much sniffing of feet and deodorising of shoes. The smell however has been hard to track down, or at least it had until, after a process of elimination that would have done Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot and Inspector Morse proud the guilty party was revealed to be...

My Wheelchair's cushion.

Yup all my problems were indeed behind (or at least beneath) me. The material in the middle of the cushion is some kind of hi-tech composite, not unlike memory foam and it had soaked up all that lovely rain water and transformed it into the malodourous presence we had been experiencing.

As we speak the cushion cover is in the wash and the offending item itself has been, sprayed with just about everything from deodorant to aftershave to floor cleaner. We await the results with bated breath and hopefully it won't be too long before I can sit in sweet smelling comfort once more.

Until next time.