It's Friday. I'm wearing my favourite socks; the zebra-print ones with the furry cuff.

It's raining out and all I want to do is be out in it.

Right now I would like... to be sitting in a cafe in the Valley mall, drinking a short macciato and watching the world pass by. I want to smell the rain and hear cars send up spray as they pass.

I love the city in the rain. The way it smells of earth and industry all at once. The way people slow down, but bustle more, and the shapes and colours of umbrellas. The movement, and the way colours are accentuated by the gloomy skies. The Valley always feels like home. In the day time the trendies vanish from view and the pavers are left to those who love them. The ecclectic, the working classes and the artists, the homeless and the restless, the ones who live and breathe this city. Suits are exotic down on Bruswick street, and normal is redefined with more piercings and disregard for what's hot this season.

And it's raining. Steady, gentle rain that seeps and drips and gathers in ambush.

And I'm here, in the office, drinking coffee and daydreaming.