Daisy and I step into the rain. Don’t worry about it! I say, let’s consider each drop to be a message from the sky! Daisy manages to deliver a sceptical look. It seems that a message has already landed on her nose. It’s just a drop or two, I say. But, at that moment, the messages increase in number, slowly at first, and then with a speed and intensity that sends us scurrying for cover. Daisy says nothing. We are soggy. We are a mess. We are saturated. There is no longer any telling where one message starts or ends. What are we going to do about all this? I ask, gesturing around me dramatically. But Daisy knows what she is going to do. She braces herself for a spin.