HISTORICAL WEATHER

I'll wager you don't want to hear me going on about paint again. However, there's very little else filling my days at the moment. I've been listening to British History while rollering and brushing and squelching and pouring. I'll wager you don't want to hear about the mystery of the ninth legion or the sacking of Colchester either.

Meanwhile, the Intrepids took down all the Christmas decorations today. We had the usual 'isn't it awful, doesn't it look sad' conversation, then the pictures went back on their hooks, the tree got squidged into its long box and the loft hatch was swung open. It wasn't long before my Dad was back to his website on historical weather. It's his new thing.

"Did you know, it's rained on this day, thirteen times out of the last thirty years!" he said, clicking his laptop. My Mum rolled her eyes. It was exactly like the time someone got him a Dictionary of English Placenames. He read them out to us one by one whether we appreciated it or not.

Historical weather is important, but only in the context of other things. Winners was telling me today about the storm over the English Channel in 1940 which prevented Hitler invading. I told him about the Romans being terrified of Oceanus and about Julius Ceaser's miserable attempts to land at Dover in 50-something BC. See, I'd been paying attention.

There was global warming back then as well. There were vineyards in Yorkshire in Roman times, not to mention Romanised Britons strolling about Calleva Atrebatum in togas.

The weather has always had an interesting impact on our history, but for most of the time it's not been noteworthy in and of itself. I certainly don't need to know that it's rained thirteen times on January 4th, since 1986.

Golly. 1986 was thirty years ago. We went on a school trip to the mayor's office in 1986. I signed my name in the book and wore the mayoral chain for a minute or two. Weirdly, one of my classmates is now the current Mayor of Reading, though I don't think she remembers me. It would have been difficult to imagine thirty years into the future when I was eight.

You know, they are right, it is quite a shame to see the decorations packed away for another year. I'm reminded though, that next year I will have my own Christmas decorations and my own tree nestling in an ivory corner. 

I think that's what history does for you: it helps you value the present and trust that the future will be OK, or at least stands a chance of working out for you. It says: look how far we've come, look what we made happen, incrementally through the years and through the storms and the sunshine. History is there for the making, and you can make it a good one.

And so I hope I shall. If I ever get this painting finished.