The man on the bus stood proudly, his pork-pie hat set neatly on his head, his umbrella furled perfectly, his eyes staring straight ahead, as a look of contentment crept over his face.
In his hand was a magazine, open at the page: "Are you a sinner in the eyes of the Lord?" He held it in the hand that he was also using to grip on to a pole, so that everyone looking his way could see it, held high. It seemed deliberate.
Have I sinned? Well, yes, in all probability. Who hasn't? But I suppose it depends on your definition of sin. It's all subjective (although I do know of one person who has committed an undeniable sin against me). If you look to religion to define sin, you find factions that can't even agree on one interpretation of their holy book(s). They kill over minutiae, convinced that they are surely right. This is all very simplistic, I know, but how complex does it have to be? It all boils down to some people's basest need for power: I am right. You are wrong. You must suffer (but in the way I choose).
Now, the weather. The weather! How wonderful was the monsoon rain yesterday morning (in London, at any rate)? I had woken up late – 8.15am – an hour late! But time did something strange and twisty, and I managed to get washed, dressed and to work on time. However, it was dark all the way, and I was half-convinced it was 4am. The slate sky was heavy, angry and beautiful, overflowing with a sense of what it might do.
And then it did it: rain, hail, thunder, lightning. Marvellous. I had been listening to Portishead's Dummy on my red iPod on the way in. The weather matched my soundtrack.
