“Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy
weather, it’s rainin’ all the time ….”
So sang …. But who cares who sang it? We now hate the bloody song.
It’s Sunday, 29 April.
We have now entered Wedding Week and all eyes are on the weather
forecasts. For this April is, we’re
told, on the verge of entering the record books as the wettest ever, in
contrast to a glorious March that was the driest and sunniest ever.
My mother would always say, during any unseasonally
lovely spells, “We’re going to pay for this, you mark my words”.
And how right she usually was.
I wish I could see a glimmer of light in what appears
to be the encircling gloom over this sodden, depressed land. As I write this, our garden – the wedding
venue, in case I haven’t mentioned it before now – is being lashed, in alternating
bursts of climatic violence, by high winds and heavy rain. Expect two inches today, said the sad-voiced weather
man on the radio this morning, adding that some places in our area could expect
flash flooding.
The appalling weather will continue well into the
week, according to the projections in both of my Sunday papers, which I panhandled
in the hope of spotting a nugget of good news.
All I turned up was pebbles and mud.
For the wedding day itself, Saturday, both papers forecast
a sixty percent chance of ‘strong rain’.
No longer a mere ten percent chance, mark you, which is what they had
been predicting as recently as yesterday, and not mere rain, but the ‘strong’ variety.
Is ‘strong’ better than ‘heavy’ in the precipitation
rankings? I’ve no idea, but right now we
cling to any straw, no matter how flimsy or bedraggled.
And of course we must cling to hope at the expense of
expectation. Perhaps there’s a break somewhere
in the vast low-pressure dawdling across these islands with sadistic
relish. There usually is. All we need is a few hours.
Over the years, whenever we’ve planned an outdoor
event, we’ve come to rely on Jessop Luck.
We’ve rarely been let down.
So here’s hoping – and for those of our friends so
inclined, praying – that good old Lady JL will show up yet again.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to drain some
water from the fishpond before it overflows.
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