Just for the record, yes I did see the storm yesterday.

In fact, I did a little more than see it. I revelled in it, was worried then excited then surprised by it, then was duly soaked by it on the way home.

All afternoon, the sky was darkening, until at about four o’clock, it looked like dusk. Then came the rain. Sheets of it. Great buckets of it. This wasn’t rain, this was water. The wind whipped it against the office windows and plumed it off the corners, like seaspray off cliffs.

The wind also lifted the summer leaves off trees, blowing them upwards and all about, plastering them to smoked windows, like sudden starfish.

Then lighting started, then thunderous (what else?) thunder, making the building shake and the soggy birds fly off the rooftops.

Forks of lightning so close we could see the surprising detail in the strike, and thunder so gigantic we stopped what we were doing and boggled at each other and the streaming windows. A building near us was hit, we are later told.

Outside in the street, a woman running in silly heels. She stops, soaked to the skin, removes them, and runs barefoot to a shop doorway.

The water builds up in the street below - ankle-deep, shin-deep. Cars rush through, but soon stop at the side of the road to let the worst pass.

Then hail, like fists on the glass. Hail. In August. Oooookay.

And just as soon as it started, it stopped. The rain eased. The sky brightened. The people came out again. The cars started moving - until, that is, they came to the massive traffic jams caused by the flooding of the roads.

Bubbling up, stories from the wires. Stations closed. Lines buggered. Mayhem. Sirens. Hometime.

On the way home, going over Hammersmith Bridge and under a bright sky, the bus stopped in traffic long enough to see the swollen river oozing along hotly, straining at the banks.

As the bus stopped, the rain started again, and the race was on - could I get home before I was too wet to bother running to stay dry? No.

This morning, journeyed in passed the swell of the river, and the smell of decay. Later, learnt that the river had been pumped with sewage, and fish had suffocated, piling on the sodden banks to the heron’s delight.

No rain during today, just limpid air and the smell of anticipation.

But tonight. A flash. A rumble. A patter on the rooftops. Another spectacle. Nowhere so perfect to watch the storm as indoors, with windows wide, safe wrapped in P’s arms.