Cascade

It's cruel and uncalled for, that's what it is.

You're riding to work through the cold and the rain, on a national speed limit (60mph) road, and you start to feel it. It has only just started but you know now that it will continue relentlessly. You sniff and sniff but it is of no use, it continues. Slowly. Mercilessly. As it gets further and further you try anything you can think of; you start shaking your head, sniffing harder, cupping your top lip to catch it. But nothing stops the malicious flow...

The snot dribbles silently and cold onto your top lip. You cringe but the mucus is without sympathy and continues, as much a servant of gravity as a despoiler of comfort. You can only sit there, riding as fast as possible in the hope that you'll get to your destination sooner and wipe it off your face before... oh no! It has reached your bottom lip!

The salty, cold, sour taste of ooze reaches your mouth. Oh why won't it stop? Why? You curse the cruel fates but to no avail. The snot trickles onwards, never stopping, soaking into the balaclava you wear under your helmet and making a mess of everything.

Bleeeuuugggrrrhhhh!