Notes on the Weather
Old Granny Marlowe: It looks like rain.
Doris: And it quacks like rain.
Old Granny Marlowe: No dear, that's just Wednesday.
The Duck of Wednesday: Quack!
Old Granny Marlowe: What's that, Wednesday? A little boy is trapped down a well?
The Duck of Wednesday: Quack! Quack!
Doris: We'd love to help, but it's starting to rain.
Old Granny Marlowe: That'll teach me to leave my washing out at this time of year.
Doris: It won't be much good for my papier maché model of Robin Hood's Bay, neither. To think it was only one day away from being waterproofed ...
Old Granny Marlowe: We are a couple of ninnies, aren't we?
Doris: I haven't felt like such a ninny since my thing with the gondolier in nineteen thirty two.
Old Granny Marlowe: We had proper rain in those days.
Doris: He was wearing a terribly big hat.
Old Granny Marlowe: None of this global warming-induced precipitation. No pH inbalances. Just honest as your uncle rain that you could drink from the barrel without a worry in the world.
Doris: Except cholera.
Old Granny Marlowe: Aye, it never tasted right without a touch of cholera.
Doris: Nowadays it's weaker than a late eighteenth century anti-smuggling campaign.
Old Granny Marlowe: You're not wrong there. This stuff feels like water off a duck's back.
The Duck of Wednesday: QUACK!
Doris: You know, I'm not sure that Wednesday appreciates being used as a rainhat.