Weather forecast: teething
There has been a lot written about the weather in Britain. Few of them in rhyme and (although i have the time, and rain pairs with pain), I won't write in prose because, frankly ... it's difficult and I am lazy.
Most people talk about how miserable the weather is. Some how inherently interesting weather here is, or how inherently boring. Lots have even written about how commented upon the weather is. None of these work for me. I think the weather here feels like having a small child around. Lets call her Sandra. Like all children, Sandra dominates your life - your mood and your tolerance for everything and everyone. Speaking as someone who is deliberately barren, I feel qualified to talk about this at (a slightly longer than your busy schedules will allow) length.
When Sandra is in a bad mood, Londoners is in a bad mood. They're tired, can't leave the house ("why don't you come over here ... Sandra's sick, we haven't slept and I'm now in a foul mood"). In the fleeting moments when Sandra isn't glum (when her tears [despite my parting-gift-from-work-umbrella] aren't soaking the bottom of my trousers; when she is actually exposing that beautiful hen's-teeth-rare smile), her parents, the collective metropolis, are ecstatic. Radio DJs play bouncy-happy music; people hold doors open for each other, everyone smiles, laughs and drinks outside on the street.
It's May. May is Spring. Instead of that adorably cute kid in those calenders (by Anna Whats-it), dressed as a sunflower, Sandra is teething. Sandra, to be honest, is a pain in the arse. Sandra is dominating, domineering, moody ... a little shite ... and I blame her for the cold I now have.
I'm looking forward to summer. Summer will be the equivalent of Sandra's first day at school. She'll make friends, be entertained and challenged - she'll grow into that happy cute kid on the sitcom with a catch-phrase (that will be adorably mispronounced) that will light up the "ahhhhhhwwww" sign in society's subconsciousness. All will be right in the world. I think this will last until November whereupon Sandra will be moody, melancholy and cold - Sandra will be, in weather-years, a teenager.
Since I've been writing, her tears have filled the streets. But now she is tired. The grey has left her cheeks. I have a few hours of dusk while she rests. I'm going to go out and play.
Hope this finds you well.
Most people talk about how miserable the weather is. Some how inherently interesting weather here is, or how inherently boring. Lots have even written about how commented upon the weather is. None of these work for me. I think the weather here feels like having a small child around. Lets call her Sandra. Like all children, Sandra dominates your life - your mood and your tolerance for everything and everyone. Speaking as someone who is deliberately barren, I feel qualified to talk about this at (a slightly longer than your busy schedules will allow) length.
When Sandra is in a bad mood, Londoners is in a bad mood. They're tired, can't leave the house ("why don't you come over here ... Sandra's sick, we haven't slept and I'm now in a foul mood"). In the fleeting moments when Sandra isn't glum (when her tears [despite my parting-gift-from-work-umbrella] aren't soaking the bottom of my trousers; when she is actually exposing that beautiful hen's-teeth-rare smile), her parents, the collective metropolis, are ecstatic. Radio DJs play bouncy-happy music; people hold doors open for each other, everyone smiles, laughs and drinks outside on the street.
It's May. May is Spring. Instead of that adorably cute kid in those calenders (by Anna Whats-it), dressed as a sunflower, Sandra is teething. Sandra, to be honest, is a pain in the arse. Sandra is dominating, domineering, moody ... a little shite ... and I blame her for the cold I now have.
I'm looking forward to summer. Summer will be the equivalent of Sandra's first day at school. She'll make friends, be entertained and challenged - she'll grow into that happy cute kid on the sitcom with a catch-phrase (that will be adorably mispronounced) that will light up the "ahhhhhhwwww" sign in society's subconsciousness. All will be right in the world. I think this will last until November whereupon Sandra will be moody, melancholy and cold - Sandra will be, in weather-years, a teenager.
Since I've been writing, her tears have filled the streets. But now she is tired. The grey has left her cheeks. I have a few hours of dusk while she rests. I'm going to go out and play.
Hope this finds you well.
posted by underwhleming at 7:02 AM
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