I’ve never understood the idea of ‘raining cats and dogs’. Dogs maybe, but all good cat owners know no self-respecting puss would be seen dead on a rainy day. Take this morning: It was pissing it down. Chairman Meow took one look outside, let out the grumpiest ‘maaaooow’ you’ve ever heard and marched straight back upstairs. I know how he felt.
Winter is well and truly on its way here in the UK. Summer has shut up shop, switched off the lights and gone back home to have a bath: It’s cold and dark and wet. Living in the Village and commuting by car, I never really noticed the weather, but now I’m walking much of the way to work, I’ve got to know it far better than I’d like. English rain, it seems, comes in many different guises, all of them deeply unpleasant:-
That non descript dampness that’s neither one thing nor the other. Like a teenage lad loitering on street corners, it’s probably harmless, but still capable of making you feel extremely uncomfortable. It’s the hoody of the metereological world – not least because a hoody’s pretty handy against it too.
Good old-fashioned, proper rain. Definitely nastier than drizzle, but for all Psycho associations, not as dangerous as you’d think. Showers usually come with plenty of warning and rarely last long so you’re in with a good chance of staying safe and dry.
The rain which goes on for days non-stop and takes over your life: You can’t get away. You can’t go out. Frankly, you might as well stay in bed. Pimp my weather system anyone?
The professional, the assassin, Mother Nature’s hitman. Downpours work alone and come out of nowhere. They soak you to the skin in seconds and even if you have one, you don’t stand a chance of getting an umbrella up in time. No messing around here, this rain deserves your respect.
And as for England’s most wanted? Well that’s easy – It’s sunshine.