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If you hail from Manchester, you’re an expert soaked wet through,
If you’ve reigned at all in this city, no one feels it more than you,
If you’ve showered in our glory; then its’ soaked into your brain,
Coz, there ain’t no folk more clued up when it comes to rain.

There’s rain that spits like Peter Kay’s but soaks you to the bone,
A fine and near invisible sheet that engulfs your whole route home,
It wraps itself around you, though you never see it fall,
And though it is the finest, it’s the wettest rain of all.

If you’re out in it for too long and this may make you laugh,
This rain wrinkles your fingers like they’re soaking in the bath,
Your toes and face will wrinkle too, making folk look funny,
But put all your notes into a bag or its papier-mâché money.

Then there are the raindrops the size of dogs and cats,
Just one drop will drench you, as against your head it splats,
Just one hit’s enough… to knock you from your stance,
Umbrella’s don’t protect folk, when these heavy raindrops dance.

Never try to catch this rain playfully on your tongue,
Coz in this town folk have drowned when they’ve got this wrong,
Imagine a grand piano falling quickly from the skies,
One drop will take your head off if it hits you in your eyes.

Though heavy rain is funny, I warn you never dare,
To laugh at any female with the flattest of flopped hair,
As just one drop is nuclear; a follicular mishap,
And just one smirk’s disastrous, only ending in a slap.

Next is rain that bounces up; it likes to ricochet,
Attacking from all angles, you can’t keep it at bay,
Then there’s rain that don’t fall down but likes to fall across,
Driving rain and blinding rain, the sort that gets folks lost.

I swear this rain is heat seeking, you won’t escape it if you try,
It’s trained to land at face height and drench you in the eye,
It’s learned to curve round corners and chase folk as they stride,
It’s learned to almost levitate, turning gravity on its side.

Then there’s rain that flutters down and masquerades as snow,
It slithers down your hood and neck, there’s no place it won’t go,
It’s trained to travel under skirts and up some ladies’ frocks,
It’s learned to slither up your legs and drip into your socks.

There’s rain that piggybacks the wind and slaps you in the face,
There’s acid rain that stings your eyes, I swear it’s laced with mace,
There’s rain that’s learned as it lands to quickly start to huddle,
So passersby fail to see and run straight through a puddle.

There’s clever rain that waits to see what folk are putting on,
Like the sudden summer downpour after the sun has shone,
Then there is endurance rain that lasts day after day,
It forces us to go out in it… in case it never goes away.

There’s ice cold rain straight from the fridge making us all chilly,
Tickly rain that tickles us and prickles us so silly,
Rain that runs right down our necks sending icy shivers,
Rain that turns our roads and streets into cascading rivers.

Not forgetting the deluge rain, like the shower has come on,
By the time you get your brollie out the deluge has completely gone.
There’s rain that is so focussed aiming for the base of your jeans,
Rain that makes us dance, as we try to run or least it seems.

Then there is the hail rain that freezes in the air,
And lands as hard as bullets, it’s the most painful I swear,
Folk are known to cry out and run for cover as it strikes,
It’s nasty, evil, horrible rain that everyone dislikes.

There’s rain that forces us to sprint our absolute personal best,
As we feebly try to stay dry in the clothes that we are dressed,
Then there is the naughty rain that makes tops go see through,
And that constantly trickling rain that makes folks need the loo.

All kinds of rain fall in Manchester; it makes us groan and grizzle,
But I think you’ll find we’re all experts in every kind of drizzle,
That’s nowt to do, if you’re soaked wet through, except hope one day to find,
That a rain expert from Manchester … has cleaned up on Mastermind..

Copyright©2011 by Phil Martin
All rights reserved.

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