I don't know if this was quite what Billie Joe was getting at when he first sung this line through his nose, but autumnal misery hangs heavily in the air. Another non-existent summer has been and gone, and the rain is falling so relentlessly our first-floor flat is in danger of becoming a canal barge (it's about the right dimensions to start with). To me, a year without a proper summer is like getting a job without having an interview - I may not like summer, in fact it's normally quite an ordeal, but to not have one at all just feels weird, and I feel like I'm rolling into the drizzly comfort of Autumn a little too easily. I also find myself feeling depressed when the seasons start changing, which is pretty much 50% of the year, and I'm looking forward to the onset of bitter winter more than I'm enjoying the present climate.
British weather fascinates me - it's perhaps the world's most inconsistent, yet the highs and lows are remarkably similar. The best we can hope for is warm and slightly muggy, with the occasional shower. The worst we ever get is a couple of hours of solid rain, followed by a bit of sun, and yes, it's slightly muggy all year round. Is Britain in a bio-dome or something? It's crazy. We have virtually no weather of interest, yet also never have any guarantees on what tomorrow will bring, as anyone who has ever sat in a field huddled round a hamper while freezing rain lashes at you from every direction will testify. There is of course also the British obsession with weather, particularly the apparently universal belief that sun is good news. If, like me, you can acquire a sunburn by sitting by a closed window on a cloudy July day, you'll know that the mention of a week-long heatwave is enough to bring on another bout of hives. But you wouldn't care about that, as long as you get a good tan, eh Kettley? Selfish bastard.
Anyway, it's dark and cold, but not cold enough to put the heating on, nor cold enough to wear a jacket to work, oh no, that would be too easy, so here's a list of stuff I've learnt recently, that along with the rest of the month thus far, I would rather forget:
The phrase 'hoods', as in a deprived area of housing, comes from the word 'neighbourhoods'. I swear down.
Chillies are farmed in the UK. No reason why they shouldn't be, but surprising given that most British people are sent running for the cold tap by a prawn korma.
A CRB check will take your family's history into account, so if you've always wondered whether Uncle Terry has previous, now may be the time to find out.
You can get a stroke from having sex. If you are unfortunate enough to suffer this problem, at least when the doctor asked what triggered it, you can stick your chest out and say "I was up all night shagging". Whether you'd be capable of such braggadocio at this stage is up for debate.
Lima beans are the American term given to butter beans. A butter bean in America is, of course, a fat kid (preferably ginger).
I'm now departing the world of fact and moving into an arena of unparallelled subjectivity - that's right, the Mercury Music Prize is back, and after the whole Klaxons farce last year (it had three good songs on it! At best!) let's hope for a better outcome (and for the winner to be subsequently cursed with stifled creativity, over-exposure - and the odd Number 1 smash hit single) this time round - go Burial! His album, with it's eerie noises and disjointed wailing is the perfect soundtrack to the phrase 'look at that - it's getting dark already... University Challenge hasn't even finished'...
No comments:
Post a Comment