It's not rain per se. It's saturated air that turns the verenda tiles into an ice rink and darkens the tyres of the car to a dust-free black.
The dogs have already taken themselves to lie on my bed. It saves on preparing hot water bottles. The foster dog is lying friendless in his basket. He does have the benefit of being near the log-fire.
I am at the dining table writing - it is silent except for the odd crackle of burning wood and the sound of a keyboard being pummellled into submission.