Courting Controversy
I do not like to be a dissenting voice. A peaceable nature and an idle intellect cause me to go with the flow when possible. But recently there has been a widespread prejudice that has provoked me. I hear it aired uncontested at the school gate, at family dinners, at the Co-op check-out and in the national media. I've tolerated it for as long as my patience allowed me, but now I feel moved to speak out.
I love the rain.
Proper rain, mind. No sane person likes drizzle. Hours, I spend, poring over the Met Office weather maps hoping for those two sturdy rain drops as fervently as others long for the symbol of the sun.
When the real hard stuff sluices down our window panes I feel the sort of euphoria which other people pay a small fortune to achieve. I stand at the front door gazing raptly at the rods of wet scouring our path tiles. I dash suspensefully across the garden to measure the rising levels in my wheelbarrow. And, from my window, I watch soaked people scurrying down the pavements. I don't get so much pleasure as I used to from this last, however, for, as I've mentioned before, my character is improving.
I love the rain because:
It tops up my pond. Weeks I spent with my pickeaxe, hacking the London clay to create this out of a bramble patch. Now word has got out. Newts and dragonflies have moved in and the water writhes with tadpoles. But sun shrinks the level and tap water is lethal to the residents and so I crave rain to keep it brimming.
Leaping about the trampoline in a downpour is a joy that far too few people sample:
It relieves the monotony of the daily trudge to school (and gives me additional opportunity to flaunt my Hunter wellies):
It clears well-known beauty spots of disfiguring anoraks so that you can picnic in wet and windy solitude:
When blown in by gales, it installs thrilling new play equipment in familiar landscapes:
And, come evening, when it's pounding the windows, it conjures inside you a delectable snug smugness that money could never buy:
Go on, admit it here in strictest confidence - you love the rain too:
I love the rain.
Proper rain, mind. No sane person likes drizzle. Hours, I spend, poring over the Met Office weather maps hoping for those two sturdy rain drops as fervently as others long for the symbol of the sun.
When the real hard stuff sluices down our window panes I feel the sort of euphoria which other people pay a small fortune to achieve. I stand at the front door gazing raptly at the rods of wet scouring our path tiles. I dash suspensefully across the garden to measure the rising levels in my wheelbarrow. And, from my window, I watch soaked people scurrying down the pavements. I don't get so much pleasure as I used to from this last, however, for, as I've mentioned before, my character is improving.
I love the rain because:
It tops up my pond. Weeks I spent with my pickeaxe, hacking the London clay to create this out of a bramble patch. Now word has got out. Newts and dragonflies have moved in and the water writhes with tadpoles. But sun shrinks the level and tap water is lethal to the residents and so I crave rain to keep it brimming.
Leaping about the trampoline in a downpour is a joy that far too few people sample:
It relieves the monotony of the daily trudge to school (and gives me additional opportunity to flaunt my Hunter wellies):
It clears well-known beauty spots of disfiguring anoraks so that you can picnic in wet and windy solitude:
When blown in by gales, it installs thrilling new play equipment in familiar landscapes:
And, come evening, when it's pounding the windows, it conjures inside you a delectable snug smugness that money could never buy:
Go on, admit it here in strictest confidence - you love the rain too:
Hehehee Ace post, you could convert me!
ReplyDeleteI like the extremes, either glorious sun or a major downpour.
I especially love being cosy inside looking out, even at the office a certain smug solidarity occurs as we sit and watch out the window people getting a soaking.
To be honest I think I'm just contrary - I want whatever we don't have!
You're right. Extreme rain does bring solidarity as you eye fellow sufferers from under the rim of your brolly or gaze in camaraderie through the office windows.
DeleteAnother corker of a post from The Matron. Absolutely loved this one. I like a cracking thunder storm with violent rain - sends such a charge through me. Once a friend and I danced in a deluge in our street - it was so life affirming. I used to love cycling through London in the rain. LOve the photos especially you all cosied up and the one of your son splashing through a puddle!
ReplyDeleteThunder storms are best of all - if you're in bed.
DeleteI once ran out into a midnight downpour in my underpants. I know how to have a good time, me.
ReplyDeleteI was with you wasn't I? Or was that another time?
DeleteNo, I only prance in pants when no one's looking these days. But we probably did it when we were 10, although not at midnight.
DeleteNo, we ran round the garden in a monsoon in Cheshire a couple of years back, don't you remember? You were definitely in your underpants. I had my thermal vest on.
DeleteYour brother is wicked (in all it's definitions)!
ReplyDeleteI am a subscriber to 'delectable snug smugness' as well as tartan rugs. We are True Brits! Also my lupins are looking luscious.
He's bonkers, the boy! My lupins have vanished. Washed away probably.
DeleteThere is a certain satisfaction in dancing about in the rain after a long dry spell! I love the rain - mostly!
ReplyDeleteIn real life I never meet anyone who loves it, yet cyberspace is full of rain worshippers!
DeleteAs the Woody Allen character says in the film Play it again, Sam - "I love the rain, it washes memories off the sidewalk of life".
ReplyDeleteI agree, it is very cosy listening to it when you're indoors, especially in the middle of the night. Although there are other times, especially on my way to work, when it's horrible. Especially if I've got a hole in my shoe. At those times, if I could Chinese burn the rain, I probably would!
I agree, a soaking when you're trapped in damp clothing all day is less appealing. That's why I never leave the house without an enveloping waterproof overcoat and a fold-up brolly.
DeleteBig smiles here. And love pic on the tramp - wet t-shirt is stark contrast to tartan rug. Juxtapositioning complete.
ReplyDeleteAnd you may well smile on your sun-soaked Spanish mountainside!
DeleteGreat post. Fab pics too. You may have converted me. Well done you : )
ReplyDeletePS - that wasn't meant to rhyme.
Come, you're a born poet. And thanks!
DeleteSorry. Still not convinced. That may change if I ever own a pond or a trampoline though. Looks like fun!
ReplyDeleteThe garden is the key. Unless you toil over ponds and borders rain is meaningless!
DeleteYou're right. Good old proper noisy, splashy, replenishing rain is a delight. But what is going on right now outside in my garden is none of the above. It is dreary drizzle. But days like this only serve to make us all appreciate the sunny ones that bit more, so can't be all bad.
ReplyDeleteI'll admit today was awful. Thanks for dropping by!
DeleteOh golly gosh. This has to be proof that we are not really twins. I hate, loathe, detest, revile rain. Thanks to my arthritic hips, I can't walk, so have to bike to school and back. There is something truly, spectacularly awful about biking in the sheeting rain. I am almost thinking of emigrating to Ibiza.
ReplyDeleteThe only thing to be said for rain is that it probably saves obvious pelvic floor-related embarrassment when trampolining. And that is not saying much.
I like your photos, though.
Arthritic hips are an understadable dampener. As is cycling in heavy rain. I would never recommend such a thing. A trampoline or an armchair are the only places from which properly to savour it.
DeleteMy children would agree with you about rain. They can't get enough of it, bizarrely. We were the only people at our local NT haunt in the sheeting rain recently. The children were merrily building a den with a poor NT man who obviously hoped the den-building activity would have no takers. I sheltered under a tarpaulin and wished I had brought my Thermos.
ReplyDeleteYou should never undertake any trip, rain or shine, without a thermos. Your children sound very civilised.
DeleteReally great post with lovely pictures. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDelete