The winter, it stays...

This time last year, we were in tee shirts and other cotton garb. We revelled in the sunshine. Oh, how warm it was! How burned was my skin (yes, really; I am photosensitive but nevertheless love the sun)...

This year, my thick, waterproof coat was spattered with rain and snow as I made my way to and from the supermarket today. My nose is running. I'm sneezing. I am wearing thermal underwear. The country is almost 80 per cent snow or rain covered. People are dying in snowy drifts.

Next week heralds British summer time. 

Hmm.

Rain, rain... Come again?

The weather in April last year was blistering (for me with my ridiculously sun-sensitive skin, anyway). It was the "hottest April" since Neanderthal man walked the Earth, apparently. And this year's April was the wettest.  

We are already being warned about standpipes by summer if the ongoing rain ceases to bucket down, as it has for the past month (since the drought was announced in fact).

Hmmm. I know it's a bit passé to go on about the weather, but what is going on?

April showers (and drought, obviously)...

A very high tide © Mellifluous Dark

There has been talk of drought in these here parts. And, since the hosepipe ban that started at the beginning of April, it has rained and showered and been sharply sunny in London. We have had thunder, lightning, hail, pelting rain, drizzle, sunshine, wind, stillness, blue skies, soft breezes and blankets of grey cloud – all in the space of two days. L has had a crash course in British weather; happily, she is fascinated by storms, as am I. There is nothing quite like the majesty of a dark grey cloud that comes hurtling across the sky to make you remember that we are just the equivalent of little ants on this planet. Thunderstorms and the sea quickly convey our vulnerability and create (in me at any rate) a longing for tea and hot, buttered toast, or full-bodied red wine depending on the time of day. Oh, and let's not forget the Thames, which is a short distance from where I sit. Soon, the tide will be high; it will destroy unwary car-parkers, seep through some doorways and cut off roads and pathways. The spring tides are quite dramatic and strangely hypnotic – you just stare and stare at the water swelling and creeping higher. Only a fool would underestimate the strength and quiet power of this winding river. It is not a safe place for a quick dip.

(Pic: guardian.co.uk)

I recall the drought of 1976 though I was but a youngster at primary school. Normally damp southern English earth was covered in cracks like the patterns on a giraffe. The heat was searing. My mum took a trip to South America to visit some of our family and dad painted the outside of the garage, his skin growing darker by the hour. It was hotter, on occasion, back here. The plants were dehyrated and water was reserved for drinking, washing dishes and clothes, and bathing. This year's drought, so far, sees a perfect concoction of a fledgling plant's needs met, what with the sun and water alternating that makes getting ready in the morning confusing – and even more time consuming.

The changeability of British weather – where I live, at any rate – gives me an excuse for my dozens of pairs of shoes and boots, my many coats and clothes for all seasons that bulge in a minimalist's nightmare of a wardrobe. Who are these people who can be so confident of the seasons in England that they manage to vacuum pack their winter/summer clothes away once the relevant season has supposedly passed? I've given up my longing for a capsule wardrobe. Why introduce more stress into your life? It's fun to have to take an umbrella and coat, and wear at least five layers in case the weather changes. Isn't it? L has several little coats and jackets piled on to the banister, and a small selection of footwear of varying permeability. Even if it is fiercely sunny, I'll shove a waterproof thing in my bag, because, well, who am I to know, eh? All those summer days where people have gone to work wearing flip-flops and come home with stains where the rain has bled the dye and washed their feet with London pavement water, just wouldn't be the same (just one of many reasons why flip-flops should be banned on the commute to work/at work). And, what on earth would we talk about? The economy? Nah. Too predictable by half (or three-and-a-half per cent – if we want to bring inflation into it!).

Weather with me

I don't know what to wear. After the hottest April since records began, I am now feeling cold due to the easterly winds that are biting us, and am carrying a coat around just in case. I have terrible sunburn on my neck and shoulders (and one ear), so I'm clad in layers and a scarf to cover up the burns and stop them worsening, and to prevent the angry patches of skin from showing. Also, at present, the scarf is keeping me warm. Judging by the temperature now, I'll not change a clout till May's out.

Cabin fever

I want to go out. I want to go out.

Look, I know I can just go out. But it's tricky. I have a little baby to think of. OK, so when I take her out in this weather, she's wrapped up warm and snug. But she needs fairly regular feeds and that, so I need to be responsible enough to not just go off and wander and that what with the roads being rather treacherous and traffic jam-prone. That's all fine by me (the responsibility thing, I mean). It's just the dratted ice that's causing me to feel trapped, to feel the fever of the cabin, to wish I were in sunnier climes. Mauritius? Mmm. Or just somewhere that could cope better with snow – and ice.

Look, I do realise that this snow is unusual, but where I live, it's not that bad. It really isn't. I recall much worse. When it snowed for a few days when I was a child, we used to have side roads gritted (oh, and novelty, even the pavements were gritted!). But now? Now, we just have roads littered with excuses for this and that, and it means that a short walk, a would-be constitutional, could be disastrous, or at the very least (without the appropriate footwear) unpleasant. See, I like to walk quickly, I always have. But, despite my Ugg-a-likes looking like they could see off any ice-challenge, the truth is that they, too, slip a tad. Drat.

So, I stayed in today and dusted. And tidied. And my back hurts now. Bring on springtime!

The white stuff

So... it has snowed: well, it is winter. It's pretty and romantic... until the stuff gets muddy, murky and then solidifies. But I want springtime now. Now, now, now. It may be because I am someone who just cannot do ice (I can't ice skate, have no desire to ski and find icy pavements torturous)... but the endless news coverage and the sad stories of accidents and various struggles make me wish we'd have a day of say, erm, seven degrees Celsuis, a nice thaw and can get back to normal again. Plus, I can stop wearing my Ugg-style boots, which are doing my knees in.

Hotter than hot

I know that if I looked back at my posts from a year ago (and the previous year), I'd find myself moaning about the summer rain and the rubbish temperatures... but honestly, being pregnant in this weather is no picnic.

I'm one of those people who usually need the central heating on until June has begun. I never remove any clout till May's out, I tell you (though I did take off jumpers and wrap them around my waist when it was warm in spring). But flipping heck, this 30 degrees lark, well, it's doing me in. I'm so hot. There seems to be no breeze, no wind. I get excited when I hear the rain start and can't believe it only lasts for five seconds. Bloody teasing clouds.

Needless to say, sleeping in this heat is interesting. (I am trying not to swear, as I don't want to teach the little baby-in-belly any bad words; apparently she can hear my voice now...)

Rain dear

I was quite pleased it rained today after the lovely long days of sunshine. The garden was thirsty and it was comforting to hear the patter of drops on the windows.

(I hope the sun comes back soon, though...)

A day in the sun

I felt rotten – dizzy and sick – until I ventured into my back garden and potted a plant that I will be taking to the new place. The fresh air and warmth were like magic. Said plant had been suffering under the shadow of the massive clematis and was straining to reach light and was probably starved of water and suchlike. I imagine the clematis roots spread far and wide.

The sunshine on my arms felt good. I've been stuck inside for what feels like months, feeling pretty rotten. And when I am inactive I feel the cold more acutely than I would otherwise. So, it was great to get outside. Then, my neighbour popped round and gave me a present, totally unexpected, and beautifully thoughtful. When we move, I'll think of them as current friends, not old neighbours.

Later, I went for a drive and succumbed to a McDonald's (I know, I know...). I ate it overlooking the green nearby, the sun shining on me, my CD player on. Next, I went home, sat on the sofa, stuck on a CD that a friend had given me for Christmas (Sarah Slean – very good, like a female Ben Folds) and I finished the novel I was reading. S came home later, exhausted, having spent seven hours cleaning his little boat, as he's selling it. He had caught the sun and hadn't eaten all day but looked happy with his work.

It turned out to be a lovely day. Peaceful and warm. Bliss.

Drivers in the rain

Why is it that people drive stupidly slowly when there is even a hint of water on the roads? Why? I'm not advocating speed or tailgating (both of which I hate) but a little common sense and absence of fear of wet roads would not go amiss during rush hour. We are, after all, in northern Europe.

The rage

Today, I had The Rage. It was caused by: slow drivers, people who amble along reading/writing texts at rush hour, the slush, the stupid printing machine at work, the IT people at work (one had the gall to tell me to turn my computer off and then on again, FFS), my friend cancelling dinner as she didn't want to venture home when it was late (and I really, really needed a drink and a chat, so I was peeved)... and, erm, there were other things, too. I swore like a trooper/trouper (?!) without much self-consciousness. But then again, I have spent years in newspaper offices/publishing. It's tough. You have to be.

But I'm home now and have eaten a creme egg (after having some proper food). And it is Friday! Hurrah. All's well with the world.

The snow bear

I made a snow bear in the local park with S this evening. It was very cold and my fingers were frozen (despite wearing gloves). The bear had little ears and small but thick arms (made of snow). S and I also had a snowball fight. Then we went home and I made dinner and baked a soft chocolate cake with fat, sweet cherries in it.

I have a feeling I am going to have to struggle in to work tomorrow. Oh dear. My journey involves two bus rides and a train journey... Fingers crossed that a) it snows really hard tonight or b) it thaws – now.

White city

Well, I got my wish: road-stopping snow. It's really thick and still falling... London has come to a standstill. I'm meant to be in an office the other side of town but there's no way to get there (it would take three or four hours to walk there, at the very least).

I haven't done any work yet today because no one could get in to prepare the pages that I need to look at. This will mean late nights at work on Thursday and Friday... arrrrgh.

I'm eating lots. Well, it's cold. That's my excuse.

Snow way

I like either a light dusting of snow or a proper road-stopper. None of this mush that melts relatively quickly and then freezes to form a slippery surface upon which I always walk gingerly. I don't like it – especially if I am hustling to work. I like my ground dry and non-slip, thanks very much. Or nice and crunch-crunch-crunchy with deepish snow. You know where you stand with that (literally).

At the moment, it's very pretty. Walking from my friend's home to the pub (to meet other friends for a pub quiz – came second again, for the umpteenth time...) was lovely as the snow flurried around our heads. The sky is now softly glowing and there is an air of quietness. On Monday morning, during rush hour, it may be somewhat different.

Anyway... it's February today. I ask you. How'd that happen? In any case, I hope you have a good one.

The sun always shines?

Well, the days are getting longer now. Yesterday was the winter solstice, unbelievably. Lately, I have craved springtime due to the coldness that seemed to last week after week whereas I have historically craved autumn for as far back as I can remember and been quite satisfied with its drift from cool, bright days to cold, darker ones.

It's not -18C, as it is in some parts of the northern hemisphere, but it's been quite bitter and, yes, that's fine for winter. But it's the first proper season we've had this year, which is why I'm not too pleased with it. Why this one? Why couldn't we have spring? Or summer? Or autumn? I lust for the coolness of autumn when it follows a hot (or even warm) summer, and I quite like summer when it follows a fresh spring where March is windy and April is showery. This year, and last, we had poor summers. It snowed at Easter this year and autumn was just wet, a slow tapering off of the tepid, dank London summer of 2008. Mediocre weather. It's currently mild and actually quite nice (for midwinter). But I'd swap it for four seasons that feel distinct rather than the rainy mono-season we seem to have had for 24 months.

I realise I am rambling rather a lot about the weather. But I am British – what do you expect?

Anyway, all I'm saying is, right, that I like the cold, the wet, the dank, the sun, the balmy breezes and occasional snow. But not in some bizarre random order. And not just the first three for half the year...

Flying south

Swallows, calling to each other, have just flown over my corner of London, no doubt going south. I wonder if they will end up near the Canada Geese that took off last night, making noises I have never previously heard. The sky was dark and the air was bitingly cold, as they communicated in a warbling, eerie pitch.

Today, the sun shone for a while but is now hidden behind pale bluey-grey haze. It feels like winter.

Bits of my day

• The hairy arms of the person next to me on the tube tickling my bare ones. Yuk. Stay in your own space! Gaaaah!
  
• Chuggers. Just chuggers. Who are these people who stop for them? It's good in summer as you can wear sunglasses and zone them out completely. They rely on eye contact (and stepping out in front of you).
  
• Estate agents asking for your requirements for the 100th time. It is not a good sales technique.
  
• PR people lying. Hmm. Yes.
• Being casually offered a full-time job that I casually refused (politely). Flattering, though.
  
• Feeling my chest tighten for the third day running. It's extremely humid at the moment – perhaps this was the cause. I thought I would collapse with the heat on the Tube home, though. Luckily, I unearthed an old asthma inhaler with the date '2006' on it. I am seeing the doctor on Monday.
  
• S texting me four times – and them arriving at once despite being written across the span over an hour. He said eating alone was a lonely experience – he's in Edinburgh, hundreds of miles away. He sounded so forlorn. I know S will come back with many tales of japes from the Festival. I recall being in The Witchery when I was 31, looking up at the tarot cards etched into the ceiling, a boulder in my belly as I pretended to enjoy the delicious food. I felt so lost as I drank the deep, dark wine. But the cards above my head were full of promise.
  
• Spending a pleasant evening with some members of my kung fu club in the pub – they are a really nice bunch of people. I like that they are so different but that we have our martial art in common. I'd like to learn the stories of some of them; I think we all have reasons for doing a martial art.
  
• M, the rabbit has stuck close by. She hasn't had much company today. I gave her extra leaves and broccoli to compensate a little.
  

Hot stuff

Can you imagine what it's like to do a session of kung fu in humidity, when the air is heavy, the wind is absent and the sun is burning through the haze? It's tough. You drip with sweat. Your hair sticks to your head. Your skin is wet and warm.

There were quite a few of us at class despite the sauna-esque heat. We flocked to the door during our two-minute break and breathed in the slightly cooler air. But we had all forgotten to ask instructor N whether we could leave the main room (which we need to do so he can keep track of us for health and safety reasons; someone might drop dead and he wouldn't know, he said). So, he told us off and made us do 50 press ups. I won't forget again. Some people looked cool – I was convinced I looked like a roast chicken, oily and brown. My friend, V, told me off for worrying that my upper arms looked like a scrotum (but some friendly teasing did ensue).

I wished the storm that was brewing would arrive during the class, and bring with it a breeze and the smell of earth in summer rain, which has got to be one of the best aromas on the planet. The sky cracked beautifully at about 10.30pm and the rain fell hard at about midnight. I found it difficult to sleep but the panic that used to occupy my mind this time last year under similar circumstances didn't even peep at me. I gave into it. What else could you do on a hot, stormy night? Wasn't insomnia a given? The fan was too noisy so I switched it off, and my throat was dry. I let my mind wander, a bicycle of thoughts gathering speed down a mental hill. Eventually, probably at about 2am, I fell asleep.

Had a horrible dream though – I was being sick, something red, like chilli, was coming out of my mouth. I woke with heartburn. No great message in that one then...

Muggy, fuggy

My head feels as though someone has piped in a load of plasticine and followed it up with some glue and treacle for good measure.

My arms are heavy and my shoulders ache so much that I could hardly lift them to wash my hair last night (due to strenuous kung fu). Echoes of my tiredness at its worst sneaked back into my not-very-distant memory, making me glad that those cruel days and nights are now fewer.

So, at least I know what has caused the arm ache. But, as for my head... There are several possibilities. It could be the weather, the warm, humid, soporific, slow dance of weather that has sat around my being today. Or it could be a poor night's sleep, not helped by said weather. I need a storm. I want a mad, lashing, crashing storm. One where the sky is split once then twice, then explodes again into a furious mass of fiery energy. It all seems pent up now. Waiting.

Another possibility for the dullness in my head could be as per my last post – a sort of 'it's my birthday in a few days... hmmm' kind of thing. What can I do about that? Not a lot. I don't care for ages. They don't bother me. I say something along the lines of 'Oh, I'm 38' now and then, but what does it really matter?

The third reason is a bit odd but I had a dream that I was walking through a particularly rough part of London. I had a gun with me. I was a spy, I think. I can recall the weight of metal in my hand, the coolness of the steel, the rough pattern moulded into the part you hold. In the dream, the gun was like part of my hand, it would save me from the baddies. And so I went, at an exhausting pace, from corridor to room, hiding under tables, in cupboards, behind walls, like some kind of James Bond. When I woke, I felt as though I had been living it. It was like a film.

Maybe it's all of the above and once the storm has come and gone, taking with it any silly birthday woes, and I've had a better night's sleep, the fug will lift, leaving behind it a warm, fresh sensation, like when you stand in torrential rain in the tropics (or a stupidly hot London), smelling the earth and air, and are able to breathe again.

Sex and the City

Today's sunny in London. The sky has been (and still is) blue with a few fluffy, white clouds here and there. People are walking around with their coats draped over their arms; after all, yesterday was coldish.

I timed my half-day off well. I did some work-work this morning, plus some housework, then took myself off to the nearest Odeon cinema to catch the matinée of Sex and the City. I was meant to see it with my friend, H, in a week or so, but I have heard so much about it that I couldn't wait. I shall go along with her when she's free – it was a very good film and I'd happily watch it again.


Having watched the entire series, and bought the (shoe) box set of DVDs, it just had to be done. I feared there would be a bit of shmaltz. There was a bit. Just a bit. But it was balanced out by a good storyline, great dialogue, fab acting and the lovely clothes. Mmm, and the shoes. Mmmmm. The red heels of Christian Louboutains flashed at the audience frequently.

I went to the cinema alone, which didn't bother me. The cinema was only one-third full at that time of day and it was nice to just lose myself in NYC for a while. I felt nostalgic remembering discussions and laughter in my late 20s and early 30s following episodes. There would be long phone calls and much mirth. I have similar chats with the same friends these days – the closeness is very much there – but the topics have moved on, as was the case in the film.

It was great. Really good, in fact. Abso-fucking-lutely fabulous, as Big would say.