British people talk about the weather. Particularly now, it is amazing how clued up we are getting on the Jet Stream, etc.
Yes, I linked that article before, but weather conversations are repetitive. We like to moan, as well. “It’s too hot!” we moan, on the second day of sunshine after complaining of the rain for a week. Onywye. Jet stream. If the Jet stream was around the North of the UK rather than over England, we would have high pressure and sun, and I would far rather be moaning about that.
Wettest April on record, we whine at each other. Wettest June! But not quite. Have a look at those stats again. Wales and Northern Ireland have had their wettest Junes on record, but not Scotland and England, where most of the population is. Much of Wales is hillside, barren, or summer grazing for sheep. England was wetter in 2007.
Apparently, the Jet Stream could be moved by hurricanes in the Caribbean. We discuss this, guiltily. No, I do not want hurricanes in the Caribbean. Hurricanes kill people! Er, actually… So we look at each other, sidelong, and admit our craving for hurricanes. Well, only over the sea, I would not want them to make land-fall-
I am sitting by the bus stop in the sunshine. “It’s nice when the sun’s out” says a man to his wife. Good to be able to agree on something. The black cloud moves over so quickly and we dodge inside the shelter. A young woman tells a young man of her plans. She’s going to Nottingham, where she’ll be so close to the city centre, with lots of shops and shit. She’ll work in a bar, doing cocktails and shit. What sort of cocktails? Not proper shaky cocktails, just mixing drinks. She hopes she’ll pass her driving test because she wants a car for her birthday. How beautifully her eyelashes are painted!
The next day there were three police cars by the college. Inarticulate male shouting. “They’ve put him in the va-an”, sang a woman. The police cars drive off. “Oh well, that’s our entertainment over for the day.” The bus comes as the rain comes. Oh, look on the
bright side Blessing of it- replenishment of reservoirs and aquefers, I am warm and dry in the bus, the Irish colours of the landscape… Lucrezia, my Romanian neighbour, tells me that now in Romania it is 40°, and in winter they have snow. What of Britain- an island, with no proper Summer, no proper Winter.