Wet Peril and Drizzle Desires

Just so my last post wouldn't go off-point (because that isn't like me at all) I felt that the plight of my poor dirty windows needed a small post all to itself.

About a week ago, I caught my first glimpse of the elusive window washers working on the building opposite. My initial impression was that they would be like sitcom stars without the canned laughter and film crews. I couldn't have been more wrong - this is America, remember.

I watched them with growing panic as I got the measure of the work. There are two men probably no more than 30; one of whom wears a rather fetching pillowcase on his head to avoid the harsh sun. The time is taken hauling their death trap trolley thing (if anyone knows what it is actually called, I would be grateful to know) up and down the side of the buildings. When they are actually in place for the cleaning, it takes very little time. They simply use a long squeegee to wipe on some water (which I am sure was clean at the top of the building, but the poor people on the lower floors just get the dirt smeared around) then another to wipe off. The terrifying bit is that they are at the mercy of the wind at all times and they have to rock simultaneously to get near enough to the window in the first place to give it that rudimentary wipe. Then one of the men practically gets out of the rocking cart to grab hold of the window ledge or something equally as perilous. Then they rocket through.

They can scale and clean 5 flights in about half an hour but because of the to-ing and fro-ing getting their metal cage into place, they actually don't achieve that much in a day. So, whilst I want cleaner windows, I also want these men to return safely to their stable ground floor homes in the evening. I have no issue with heights, but I found that I couldn't watch them without a knot forming in my stomach.

Running the risk of that old adage to be careful of what you wish for, what we need is a nice spot of rain. The kind that makes you want to go out in it to run in the street and get soaked to the skin and have to de-robe at the door. The kind of summer rain after a long period of drought that makes the grass smell wonderful and the pavements glisten and even the ugliest grey building look beautiful; you know, like in England. Not like Liverpool rain though, not the dreary hard incessant rain that never stops, makes everything dark and makes you feel like the Dementors are just around the corner, and that keeps your coat and shoes permanently damp despite the stuffing of newspapers and a night on the radiator.

I imagine people in the UK cannot understand this strange desire of mine and maybe even feel slightly resentful, and frankly before now I would have struggled, but after living in Liverpool for 3 years, 3 months without rain just doesn't feel normal.