It’s welly weather again. The summer is definately over. What little dust had managed to adhere to the boot collection at the front door is now being washed off by the buckets of water that seem to be endlessly thrown from the sky.
While the English were basking in their warmest October day on record, up here in Scotland we were just having a normally wet day in October. Such is life I guess.
Actually I shouldn’t just lump all of Scotland together. My family and friends on the east coast will be chuntering about how they have much drier weather than we do in the west, and that I was mad to defect over this way in the first place. Weather wise I’m afraid I have to agree.
I love the rain when I’m on a beach. Obviously not when I’m on a beach in a cozzy expecting sunshine, no when I’m on a beach all wrapped up right for the weather and really enjoying the rain. There’s something invigorating and exciting about wind and rain on a beach.
I love the rain when I’m tucked up warm by the fire drinking hot tea and watching a movie on a Sunday afternoon. Seeing it cascading down the window when you are inside, comfy and chilled out is almost a soporific feeling. It’s like taking time out from the real world.
I love the rain when it falls gently and almost mistily in the mornings. When it caresses your face as you look up to the sky.
I love the rain when it is being thoroughly pissed off, throwing a mega tantrum and hurling itself about like a two year old in a supermarket. Rain, wind, thunder and lightning all at once. Sheer power.
I didn’t love the rain yesterday when I leaped from my car outside the house and went up to my ankles in that puddle patch that I’ve meant to fill in for years. Was I wearing a sensible pair of wellies at the time? Alas no, sox and converse are not conducive to comfort at a moment like this. As ever I am outwitted by the gods of fashion and end up with soggy feet.