It always rains here
that's why
even when it was baking hot in London yesterday I went to work in an overcoat knowing full well that the downpour would come the moment I passed Warrington and I wasn't wrong.

If home is where the heart is and where the umbrellas are lined up like the elderly on pension day then I arrived late last night, but they don't notice things like that up North, if it doesn't have curry sauce on it or mushy peas on the side it doesn't exist,

through the mist which is actually cigarette smoke I can see today coughing its way through the early morning streets,

Ah
so good to be back in the clickety-clack of the mill town.