Having had a few days of fine, sunny weather I’m ready for a change, in fact I’m quite excited at the prospect of a downpour, even better a thunderstorm.
Have I always had this ‘love’ of weather, I don’t think so. As a child I expect that I was excited if snow was forecast but I have no recollection of rushing in to watch the weather forecast, I do now though. These little televisual gems are advertised as being forecasts or predictions, but they are nearly always wrong so ‘guess’ would be a better description, it doesn’t stop me watching them though and then waiting, expectantly, for their thoughts on what the weather may be tomorrow, or even later today. Sometimes I sit there at lunch time, Peter Cockcroft is on top of Television Centre telling me that there are cloudy skies in the S.E, ‘no there arent’ I shout, ‘it’s blazing sunshine’, and that’s what I love, the total unpredictability of the weather, the absolute uncontrolled nature of climate. How boring if every singe day were the same. I would miss that lovely, earthy fresh smell when it has rained after a dry spell; the sound of rain the splahing down outside; the distant rumble of thunder: the brisk breeze blowing through the trees and the soft crunch of snow under foot. The slashing, vivid flashes of lightening, the magical rainbow arching through sparkling raindrops, the purity of newly fallen snow. Weather, it’s amazing.