The rain in Spain

Llandudno was quiet today. Probably the rain, which manifested itself as delightfully sunny and clear, blue skies until we chose to step out of the truck, whereupon a dense, black, eerily-ominous culmulo-nimbus jumped out and proceeded to disgorge about a month's worth of rain in ten minutes all over us.

Not that a short sharp shower spoiled the delights of taking the car to get serviced, or tramping round M& S like some Yakutskian nomad looking for fresh grazing for the reindeer and wondering why no one has ever told the M & S senior management that moving where things are stacked every other week doesn't actually increase sales, but does make a lot of folk irritated beyond reason. But - like the Inuit - we do have a lot of phrases and words for the weather - probably because we get so much of it. In fact, our lives revolve around the weather far more than most folks', and that probably has something to do with the jet stream. That's the high speed atmospheric-conveyor system that dumps the Atlantic depressions on our doorstep with irritating regularity and converts mild autumnal afternoons into outakes from the Omen.

But we shouldn't complain.  After all, if we lived on one of the continental land masses we would have to endure days of unvarying sunshine and warm weather, or long, dry days with crisp, white snow.  Hmm.  But then - we'd be sharing the place with foreigners....