Rain, rain, rain

This weather is driving me mad. Never mind me, it's driving Susie mad. Loopy. Mental. She said this morning, when she was eating a croissant in bed, which I had brought her in fact, she said 'F*ck this f*cking rain. It's all a bit too f*cking King Learish. F*ck OFF!!' She meant the rain, not me. I was carrying food, after all.
I know who King Lear was, obviously, but for a minute I was confused and thought Learish was an Irish hero or something. Learish and the hounds of Ulster, that kind of thing.
Anyway, she stuffed the croissant in her face and sipped tea and sighed and pulled her covers up around her and picked up her book, so I could see she wasn't going to be getting up in a hurry. And wasn't in the mood to be reminded of the stories she's meant to be writing.
And it is really dark and lashing out there, horrible, and inside it feels like being in a cave. So, I'm not sure what we'll be doing today if she stays in bed. Maybe I'll hoover around her. Hoover the cave. And throw chunks of raw meat to the lion now and then.