Blonde's Eye View: Meh weather
Angela Clarke ponders the 'Great' British climate
When I read back through my many years of Wharf columns I notice a clear pattern emerge from those written in January and February.
I am obsessed with the weather.
It's almost as if the cold, dark damp has seeped into my very soul, and now every word I speak and type is preoccupied with precipitation, and ruled by rain. Ice is my idée fixe. I have brain freeze. I am a very British climate cliché. How predictably drab.
The columnist Caitlin Moran once argued our dismal weather is directly responsible for the greatest achievements of our countrymen. Drizzle keeps everyone indoors and focused on their pet projects.
She suggested bad weather ensures this tiny damp island punches well above its cultural creative weight by helping to produce a catalogue of impressive bands and writers.
If it were sunny and delightful would The Beatles, The Rolling Stones,and even Boyzone have ditched their albums in favour of chugging rosé in a pub garden?
Maybe they were chasing success, and suncream.
Yet everyone I know is struggling to get out of bed. Even those annoying souls who usually leap up at 5am, cheerfully destroying to-do lists and work adversaries, and going to things like Hunger Games spinning class are sleeping in.
When even the overachievers are crushed by the weight of the weather we have to admit defeat. Roll over, pull the duvet over our heads, and put the out of office on till March.
This time of year is best summed up by that beautiful Internet term for indifference: meh. Everything is unmehntionably bleak. Mehderously desolate. It's so awful I can't even bring myself to use real words.
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