Weather Report

“So many who desire immortality cannot think what to do on a wet Sunday afternoon.”  I don’t know the origin of this quote but I am struck by its perspicacity, particularly on a day like this, with a grey sky gifting its rain as it has so frequently of late. But then it is October and this is Britain.

Not so long ago, when the sun was shining on the London Olympics, a foreign visitor was asked by a TV reporter to voice his impression of our country. “When I think of Britain, I think of rain” is all he said. So, despite all the interesting stuff that has happened here over the centuries, all the history that has left a physical and cultural legacy of some note, it seems that a single aspect of our climate might be the dominant factor in our international standing.

There may be those who pity us for our precipitation but they don’t know the whole story. The fact is that our weather is neither rainy nor sunny, neither cold nor hot, neither one thing nor the other. It is variable and therein lies its allure. It’s not surprising that the British constantly talk about, complain about, remark upon, discuss, predict and pronounce upon the weather: it is an inexhaustible topic precisely because of its variety. Variety - “the spice of life”.

Imagine if it were otherwise: if, every morning, you could say to your neighbour “Lovely day, isn’t it?” Pretty soon your greeting would become inane since the word lovely has meaning only as a comparative adjective and what you would be saying, in effect, is “Normal day, isn’t it?” which would, of course, be pointless. I once worked as a teacher in a small town in Sudan. All around was desert and, during my year there, I recall only one cloudy day. On that day the students implored me to conduct the class outside so that they could enjoy the “fine” weather. Oh, how they longed for change, variety – a light shower or two.

But natives of every continent have developed ways to coexist with their weather and in Britain these are diverse. Many have adopted a ‘victim’ mentality which allows them to feel hapless, helpless, put-upon and pissed-upon: they do not have my sympathy. Others are stoical and are apt to appreciate long periods of rain as “good weather for ducks”; extended freezing temperatures as beneficial to killing off aphids; and more than two consecutive days of sunshine as “summer”: these are the splendid optimists. Then there are those who do their best to out-wit nature by spending time under infra-red lamps, taking two weeks holiday in a sunny country, buying time-shares on Mediterranean costas or, in extreme cases, emigrating: consider them quitters.

It has been remarked that, for a country which has no significantly high mountains, Britain has spawned an inordinate number of world-class mountaineers. The explanation is to be found in the fast-changing weather conditions under which they are obliged to hone their skills. Attitude, not altitude, creates good mountaineers.

I can’t say that I personally delight in being caught out in foul weather on mountain slopes which is why I take advantage of weather forecasting technology to make the most of the “lovely” days. And so it was on a recent walk with my partner in Cumbria, heading northwards up and past Goat’s Water to the head of the valley with the sun on our backs and the Old Man of Coniston to our right. We turned left at the head and strode along the tops of Dow Crag, Buck Pike and Brown Pike, the landscape spread all around and bathed in late summer sun. We admired the peaks to the north, peeped into Yorkshire to the east, scanned the Irish Sea to the west and headed down the long, glacial valley towards the expanse of glittering sands and shallow waters of Morecambe Bay. Days like that really do make immortality an attractive proposition.