When it rains, it Rains. Early in the morning it started again. There was a frenetic drummer hammering harder and harder on the crenellated plastic roof of the outhouse. A drug crazed jazzer wanting to smash the pathetic skin. A mad man hitting the beat, ever faster. The roof can surely not hold against this relentless hammer! The rain pounded parked cars, sought to smash through roof tiles, crack the pavement, tear through to the earth.

At night, all night, that drumming! It was a fitful sleep. I wanted to bang on the walls and tell the neighbours: turn it down, it’s driving me crazy! Then I woke. The drummer was still going loco crazy. Now it had rained like this for 24 hours without a minute’s pause. I was in a torture chamber in an old war movie. They will break me. Then I slept.

I woke up, startled – there was a noise outside – what was it? I sat bolt upright. A strange sound. There was no rain! It was still. The beat had stopped. The silence gasped. It was 5.17 am and the rain had stopped. At last I fell into deep slumber as if I was absolved - for now - from some trumped up crime.