It’s sunny today which means that London has come to life. My street looks like a Technicolor fantasy. Hopes soar, spirits rise. Until tomorrow at least when the rain comes falling down.
I have been here nearly three years now and for at least 18 of those 36 months, I do not see sun. Coming from the southern hemisphere, this is difficult. I seem to be in an inverse relationship with the weather over here. The longer I stay, the harder the winter becomes. Perhaps all his moaning about the weather is typical of an Australian living in London.
Despite the cliché of the whinging Pom, my husband (a Brit) claims that Australians are the whiniest lot that he has ever come across. Or perhaps that is because he has me as an example.
It’s not that I want to be so affected by the weather. I simply am. Last years dismal summer left me in a state of panic when winter approached. I eked out an existence throughout those long, dark months by rationing myself small treats to look forward to. I got through it without having to resort to a “Happy Lamp” or trips away to sunnier climes with other light starved Brits. My plan of attack was simple. End of January - one box of Tim Tams. End of February - two boxes of Tim Tams. End of March - three boxes...and so on. Come the end of winter, I could have been the sole distributor of Tim Tams in London.
That said, I do not know how many more London winters my blood sugar levels can take. Fellow Australians assure me that I will get used to the climate. But perhaps that is half the problem. I don’t want to get used to it. It’s not how I want to spend half the year, dammit it, in a shroud of dark gray.
Winter wonderland, I’ll be damned. More like Hell frozen over.
