Apparently it is going to rain tonight.
Clear your diaries. Half of us are going to go outside and stand in it for three minutes, and the other half are going to roll their eyes and mutter ‘typical’.
Them’s the rules, Britannia, them’s the rules.
In this nation whose conversation, culture and social bonding rituals are entirely shaped by the weather, you just have to go along with it. And it’s likely that a little cold rain after endless weeks of baking sunshine, will be as communal an event, a thing to be commented on, just as much as the partial solar eclipse we all had last week.
I went out for a walk in the park today. Cool air, grey skies, and almost white grass thinning over dry, cracked mud. It’s a picture of our summer.
I feel more hopeful today. I mean, not quite full of hope, but maybe closer.
Sigh. There’s been a tiredness this summer that has come from more than just the boiling sun - a tiredness that has made me ache for something more, something fresh and new. As so often, the change in season seems like a reflection, a painting that matches my own.
Come on then rain, I’ve got at least three minutes to get my wellies on. Down you come.
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