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It’s this sense of clarity that Henry Wadsworth Longfellowdetails in the following poem, a celebration of the rain in summer which gives many reasons why it should be welcomed and not criticised, not least for the inspiration a rainy day can inspire in a poet – just look at the final three stanzas.
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Also, one of my small, perhaps strange, pleasures in life is to take in the smell of the air after some rainfall I don’t know exactly what it is, but the atmosphere smells and feels fresh and renewed somehow. There are the practicalities of it a good soaking leaves everything cleansed, looking a lot greener instead of parched and dry, and given the recently imposed hosepipe ban in these parts those reservoirs could certainly do with filling. Not looking too deeply into the reason for this mania, it does at least help to me to appreciate the odd downpour and realise that really, a bit of rain isn’t all that bad. I don’t know if it’s just me who doesn’t really see the appeal of thunderstorms I suppose they can be rather atmospheric but they don’t leave me geared up as much as they do leave me cowering in fear (I have a disproportionate and irrational phobia of – as well as many other things - being struck by lightning). However I do think the cause of the excitement was more due to the rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning than anything else. Maybe it’s finally sinking in the as-good-as-fact that a ratio of sunshine divided by showers is the inimitable marker of a British summer.
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Logging onto a certain social networking site not long after witnessing the almighty opening of the skies, all I could see were comments along the lines of “This weather is brilliant”, “Thank God for the rain, at last” and those altogether more random and amusing – I can’t say I’ve ever heard rain described as ‘sexy’ before, unless you count discussions about clichéd and altogether impractical kiss-in-the-rain scenes in many a romantic piece of drama. It is quite unfortunate that the return of the rain coincided with St Swithin's Day, however that is just a cruel trick of fate and nature (or alternatively, just folklore and a way to explain away our often not-that-summery-at-all summers).Īlthough, if the reaction of my friends to the sudden wet weather is anything to go by, perhaps it’s not so much of a curse as I’d previously considered it to be (alternatively, I may just have slightly strange friends…and that’s an entirely plausible prospect, in the best way possible). Okay, it is a bit of a stretch…I’m just trying to put a positive spin on a much-maligned situation. But you can’t deny that the rain here can be something to behold at times, in a strange way something to be proud of – if we’re not going to win awards for achievements in sport (especially after this summer) or many other things, we’re in with a good shout for an accolade for stupefying showers. Complain about it if you will – and of course we will, we are British after all (although given that it’s in-built into our weather system, almost the only thing you can rely on in a world of unpredictability, it seems fruitless that we should do so). And in rather spectacular fashion, given the monsoon-style downpour that drenched everything in sight midweek. Now our old friend, the rain, has come to greet us again. Weeks of glorious summer weather, days spent drinking in the sunshine – and sometimes, if we all admit it, not being accustomed here to a particularly sultry climate, sweltering uncomfortably in the heat.