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Rain.

Purple rain. The Rain in Spain falls mainly in the Plain. Let it Rain. I'm Singing in the Rain. Raindrops are falling on my head. I'm only happy when it rains. Rain Of Tears. Rain on me. Raindrops from heaven. Anyone who wishes to add to this ridiculously short list of rain titles, feel free to do so. The best entries will be published here and this competition is open 'till april next year, when we hope to see the sun again after all the rain.

Autumn hath descended upon us. The skies, gray before, now have the glint of steel particular to clouds that know that they'll be here for a while. The rain bombards the pavements with permanent and powerful conviction.Mornings are awful, as when you creep out of your carfully heated cave consisting of a quilt and an extra blankey that you've been warming all night with your body heat (okay, it is slightly nuts to sleep with the window open...), you cant't help but feel the chill of winter sloly creep into your bone marrow and start gnawing at it from inside.

You can't go outside without getting wet. You cannot set a foot in front of the door without experiencing a feeling of aquatic proximity. You get the point.

Interesting also, the sudden transformation of the people on the street. Working with a Comlombian friend of mine, we could not help but compare what it would be like at home (on two different continents which are on opposing sides of the globe). Sunnier was one thing we could agree on. People would have conserved their senso of humour was another. Warmer was very important to both of us.

Compared to the long faces that we saw on the street with the inherrent unfriendliness that this weather brings to Berlin, home suddenly seemed a great place to be. We should migrate.

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