A Very English Complaint About the Weather

It's not that the weather here is bad, nor that it is particularly good. What is so damn irritating is that it's changeable. Dressing every morning involves a skilful act of layering, so that when the clouds disappear, you can shed one (or more) cardigans and jumpers and refrain from sweating too much, and then when the clouds cover up the sun again – as they inevitably do – you can pile all the woollies back on, plus a beanie for good measure. Oh, and never, ever go anywhere without an umbrella. Just because it's sunny now means nothing. After the third or fourth time, you learn.

Last Monday was beautiful. You can't imagine how beautiful it was, comparatively speaking. We're drawing towards the end of October, smack in the middle of Autumn, in cold and rainy Wales, and the sun was shining, the clouds didn't hover once, and it was so warm that I was walking around the city in a singlet top and jeans. Granted, I was also wearing a scarf, but that was almost entirely due to aesthetic purposes. I came to the somewhat premature conclusion that perhaps Autumns weren't all that cold this far south.

Of course, then we haven't had a dry day since. And there have been moments when I doubted that my warm woolly coat would keep me warm even til the end of November. But I think I underestimated it. I think with the right combination of jumpers and scarfs, I might get away with it until February in York. We shall see.

I've always been one to appreciate a rainy day. Of course, in Newcastle, they're slightly less frequent than in Swansea, and rarity tends to make something special. Now, I'm just getting a little tired of walking everywhere with the damp patch at the hem of my jeans climbing higher and higher with every puddle I walk through.

But then, I was walking home through the park the other day. The trees still wear most of their leaves, but there is a thickening layer of gold on the ground. It wasn't raining, but it had been, and the bark on the trunks had soaked up the water to become a rich, dark brown, almost black. Against the dark of the tree trunks and the white-grey of the clouds in the sky, the green leaves stood out, washed and bright. A gust of wind swirled the fallen leaves up in the air and for a moment I just stopped and watched. Somehow, everything looks richer, more alive after a little rain.