We are standing at the traffic lights in Lothian Road (1) and it is raining.
No, actually, raining is too small a word for what is falling out of the sky. We are talking torrential. We are talking biblical. Edinburgh this Sunday afternoon is auditioning for a part in Darren Aronofsky's Noah sequel. Cold, clammy rainwater is guttering off my head, runnelling down my back.
I swish away the curtain of water falling over my eyes and gaze around. The five of us look like we've spent a day as exhibits in Deep Sea World. Not just sodden but drenched. Both daughters number one and two in their sodden cotton hoodies are ill-prepared for this downpour (2) and are trying to squeeze in under their granny's umbrella before they're washed away. J has an umbrella up too but she's still soaked. And my raincoat isn't as waterproof as I believed.
We're waiting for the lights to change. We've been waiting five minutes. Cars slush past us. The lights change and another stream of cars swim by. The green man has not appeared.
"It's not working," J says.
"Next time," I reply. The lights change. The green man doesn't come on. Cars roar through the rain. We wait. We get wetter. The lights change. The green man doesn't come on. Cars fishtail through the rain. We get even wetter.
"It's not working," J says again. She's not waiting for me to agree. She is striding off down Lothian Road. We all silently, damply, squelch after her.
Later, I'm watching the Euro elections pour in on Twitter. It's looking grim. It seems my vote for the Greens is not going to help get an MEP elected in Scotland. As depressing result follows depressing result it occurs to me that the incident at the traffic lights was some kind of a signifier for the difference between J and I. She lives in the real world. I live in a fluffy, liberal dream where the green man always comes on. Eventually.
Some time around midnight it's official. Ukip has taken a Scottish seat. I go to bed miserable. And I try to remember if my vote has ever been cast for the winning side. Through the 1980s I voted Labour in Stirling and Michael Forsyth kept getting elected. In 1997 I didn't vote Labour because I didn't like Tony Blair and Labour got in.
I suddenly realise it's possible that the only time I've voted for an MP who actually got elected was for Eric "a bit fighty" Joyce and look at how that worked out. Maybe, I think, it's always raining. I've just never noticed before.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Outside Starbucks and opposite the Odeon, to be precise.
[2] I did suggest they bring coats but didn't order them to. The limits of liberal parenting.
[3] He's living with novelist India Knight now. How did that happen?
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