Today, according to the Lonely Planet desk calendar that my brother got me for Christmas, I am going to Edinburgh. This is somewhat ironic, I believe, since yesterday I got rained on old-skool-style.

It only rained twice yesterday. When A, J² and I were walking over to J²'s house to play Werewolf, and when we were leaving. Two minutes before we packed our stuff up to go, it started pouring. Buckets. We waited a little, but it showed no signs of letting up, so I set off on foot anyway.

When I reached the halfway point of Maccas, I was sopping wet. My shoes were water-logged, my jeans wet to mid-shin, the front of my overcoat almost dripping. My book in my bag was wet, and I thanked the Librarian Gods that it was a second-hand book I'd bought for $2, and not a good-condition one to start with.

It had stopped raining when I finished my meal, and I walked quickly home. Not quickly enough, however, and I got caught on the far side of campus when it started to rain again. Up went the umbrella, but the storm was not to be so easily thwarted this time. Halfway across campus, it decided that very hard and horizontal was a grand way for rain to be.

I disagree, I have to say. And after struggling home through gale-force winds determined to blow rain right up my nose, umbrella or no, I'm pretty much determined never ever ever to go out in the rain again. Horrible stuff.

So that, in a nutshell, is why I am not going to Edinburgh, no matter what the calendar says.