My European work colleagues have dubbed me “the weather girl". In my email intros, I not only make small talk. I make small talk about the weather. It’s become my weird little trademark. I look out of the window and write about the 50 shades of grey (both rubbish), that it's cloudy with a chance of meatballs or perhaps as Pooh says "it sure is rather a blustery day". When there's actual sun I bring out my jazz hands. It’s cringey. But I can’t help myself. I have become incapable of starting any sentence without: “Greetings from a gloomy Windsor” or “A sunny hello from southeast England”. I can’t remember how I used to do email intros before. I draw a blank. In the same way I don't know how I filled my time a decade ago before I had kids. I honestly couldn’t tell you.
If there was a barometer of Britishness, I guess weather banter would be pretty up there. Along with drinking two litres of tea a day, popping to the pub for a pint and listening to the Queen’s speech at Christmas. It’s a safe topic. It changes every five minutes so there’s plenty of subject matter. It’s inoffensive. It’s impersonal. It’s perfectly British in every way. I even engage in a wee weather chatter with the checkout ladies at the supermarket. “Brrr...by golly, it’s cold today. We’re in for some snow apparently.” Sometimes they run with it. And I get a little “Yeah and it’s cold in here and all.” Sometimes not. And I get a raised eyebrow, no eye contact and my groceries are scanned in record speed and I’m sure there’s mumbled nuance of “nutter” directed at my derriere.
The weather here is not just a conversation starter. It stops traffic. It closes train lines. Roads. Schools. It gets under your skin. In your bones. Obviously, I’m used to a more moderate climate down south, where unless it’s kak hot, kak cold or there’s a kak load of rain, it’s not something we spend a lot of time talking about. Weather chat is a first world privilege. Apparently the average Brit spends the equivalent of four and a half months of their life talking about the weather and it comes up in conversation three times in a typical day. An actual study was conducted. Someone took the time to research it. It's a hot topic. A hot mostly cold topic, if you will.
Oscar Wilde said: “conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.” So there I go. Or perhaps I’ve already lost it? Along with the age-defying chub that apparently used to cushion my cheekbones. Who knows? All I do know for sure is that for the last couple of days I’ve been working on my couch with my coat and scarf on. The radiator is on max, but the arctic breeze that creeps up through the suspended wooden floor takes my breath away. Yesterday, I looked outside and typed: “Greetings from Windsor! Today we had 20 000 or so people visit our town. Along with the inimitable Jack Frost. He snuck in overnight on a cloud of ice, snow and slush. The bastard. I hope you’re enjoying warmer climes wherever you are and you’ve received a less frosty reception to the start of your day.” And then I made myself a cuppa. As is just as customary in these parts. Where it's currently cold. Kak cold.
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| Snow flaming cold |
