Raining today, has been a lot. I rather like it, like reading on rainy summer days (don't care for no Pena Coladas, nope), rainy summer nights (still technically spring, but I don't technically care). 'Twas a stormy early evening I first read DRACULA, just got to the part of the Demeter's log when the storm reached its peak of fury, matching the weather of the novel as that derelict ship struck ground at Whitby harbor--a corpse lashed across the helm, aye...
Perfect weather for reading my beloved dormouse Mary's original draft of FRANKENSTEIN, aye (again). Perhaps the very heavens shall cast their fury upon my head as I lose myself in The Modern Prometheus, send bolts of lightening to quicken my pulse and all that sort of rot. (Insert necessary tongue-rolling when reading aloud).
Dig up my old dog Spot, ayuh, take em up yonder rud afore alla said and done.