Taking a mental picture 📸

This year, I’ve resolved to take photos more using my film camera (the trials and tribulations of which you may remember from this post here, if you’re a free subscriber.) Yesterday, I was in a situation in which I should have taken a picture but didn’t: I had my film camera in my backpack, but it was bucketing down and I had my hands full with a Christmas gift bag that was at breaking point (same girl, same!) To commit the memory to, well, memory, I thought I’d write it down instead.

The kind of rain that makes you question the word ‘rain’ in all other contexts: oh, that? That’s nothing. This is rain. Big, fat bullets of water coming down from the sky, the type that you can’t escape no matter how hard you try. And so: we stopped trying. Half-walking, half-hopping down the busy street, after a morning of drinking coffee after coffee and putting the world to rights in a cosy café, you’re laughing at the BBC Weather App, which promised no rain til 2. Actually you’re laughing at yourself, for trusting the BBC Weather App. (As you write this now, back in your flat, where you’re slowly drying off by dampening everything around you instead, it’s coming up to 2pm, and the rain is just stopping. What say you, app?)

And at the same time, you’re filled with love for your friend, who’s skirting puddles just slightly up ahead. Even in the rain, she looks chic — a camel trench coat, straight cut midwash denim, and black Chelsea boots. Slick with water, hair plastered to her head, a rainy Rorshach damp patch spreading on her trench coat, she turns back to continue the conversation you’re having — because you’ve weathered worse storms over nearly 20 years of friendship, what’s a little rain to a good conversation? — and you’re overwhelmed with how grateful you are. For the friendships you have, the memories you’ve made, the life you’ve created. For the little moments, even when the big ones seem harder.