18 June 2013
Weather is almost always the first topic of conversation here. I wonder if the Indians, French or Japanese have the same obsession?
“Sunny and hot again for the 27th day running I observe. We could do with a spot of rain could we not?”
I doubt if that’s a conversation-opener in Spain. I met four acquaintances when out shopping on Monday last and every single one commented on the weather. Mind you, it’s been dreadful since about a year ago now. It seems we are suffering from a slipped jet stream, for a jet stream “meanders” we’re told. Well, I sincerely hope it meanders our way in time for Wimbledon. And Royal Ascot and Henley.
(Not Glastonbury, for that, without mud, would hardly be an event.)
It’s the brides I feel sorry for. The big day, saved up and planned for, sometimes for years, then down comes the rain in torrents, ruining hairdo’s, footwear, flowers and haute couture. You can make something out of snow (once the difficulty of getting to the venue is solved), think white fur cloak with hood, but rain is just a drippy bore.
The umbrella is not a thing of beauty, merely a necessity; like an alarm clock, or an electric fire.
My native county has more rainfall than any other in England I gather, hence the stunning lakes. Odd that, I never remember it raining when I was a child, AND, it’s the only place I ever had sunstroke.