It is raining. This is an objective observation. Far be it from me to question a plot hatched by occult powers aiming to ruin our lives with an overflow of rain. In any case, the weather specialists explain to us that it is raining is good news, which should be celebrated. For weeks, in fact, it no longer rained, when it should have. Which is bad for the vegetation and the crops and everything in between. Especially since the same specialists tell us a hot and dry summer. Without water, therefore, like the butcher’s shop of the same name in Tintin. And, therefore, I watch the rain fall, trying to rejoice, that it is appropriate to rejoice. Being a rational mind (at least I like to believe it), I tell myself that I should get there without too much effort. Except that, obviously, a small part of my brain, wherever it is, snorts, scolds and kicks. Okay, it’s good for what we have, rain and all that, says this little part of my brain, but it turns out that, besides and concomitantly, we are fed up with Covid and all that follows. And that we would like, failing to play around like before, at least to quietly wander around in the sun, if that’s not asking too much, so as not to sink into the most distressing dereliction. Let us summarize: if it had pleased me more than it would have rained when it had stopped raining, it would have pleased me even more if it had stopped raining.