SHARP RAIN AND A SWANSONG

"Take a brolly," said my Dad, predictably, as I zipped up my coat this morning, "It's raining quite sharply."

I don't know anyone else who describes rain like this. 'Sharp rain' in his world is somewhere between light and thunderous. I always imagine daggers being thrown from the clouds, glinting on their way down and shimmering into the earth.

My boots squelched through the puddles and rain trickled from the umbrella onto my knees. I normally don't mind the rain too much, but for some reason this morning, it was just annoying.

I'm also annoyed by my shirt today. I feel like I'm trapped inside the collars. Funny isn't it, how what you wear can affect your mood? I arrived at the office and peeled off the layers, suddenly wishing for automatic lace-up shoes and a self-drying jacket.

-

"Did you see the email about the Christmas lunch?" asked Peter. "Would you be up for a repeat performance?"

The first year we played carols at the Christmas lunch, we raised over £300. Granted it was because someone got drunk and emptied the finance director's wallet into the bucket, but nonetheless, it was a roaring success. Ever since, there's been a mixed amount of enthusiasm for this little tradition.

"I guess so," I said, cautiously. I was thinking back to last year's empty marquee, strewn with paper aeroplanes, upset plastic glasses and crumpled party hats.

It had been an anticlimax, packing away my keyboard on my own. It seemed as though we had performed for people who were more interested in amateur origami. As soon as the coach arrived, they were off.

So, it looks like we're doing the same again this year. Maybe it will be different. For a start, it's somewhere in the town centre.

Peter and I went over to Geoff's desk to see if he'd be up for playing trumpet. Geoff was surprisingly enthusiastic - though it might be because after Christmas he's retiring and going on a grand tour of South America, Thailand and Australia.

"It'll be my swansong!" he beamed.

Good for you, Geoff, I thought. My shirt collars were scraping my cheeks, my feet were still soaking and I was suddenly imagining lugging a heavy keyboard through the middle of Reading.

I caught a glimpse through the window, of the trees being thrown about by the wind, and the rain tumbling out of the darkened sky. I do hope it doesn't rain that day.