May has been a bit crap hasn’t it. I’m not talking about the trifling football matters where plucky English teams were disgracefully robbed of their rightful places on the winners podium just because the opposing sides were a lot better. No I’m talking about grave, difficult and important stuff here “ yes, that’s right the bloody weather. The two days of sunshine, cheerfully predicted to herald the onset of a glorious summer, rapidly turned to wind, rain and, in the case of higher ground, snow. Am I the only one thinking this is a little odd for late Spring?
I may be. A commuter’s Gaia is intrinsically linked to the prevailing meteorological conditions. When forecasts predict, localised flooding, property damage and creation of new inland seas, it’s hard not to be a little glum.
The Internet offers forlorn hope through the medium of a hundred forecasting sites, so we trawl through the lot searching for a good one. Metcheck is generally depressingly precise but thrives on screaming tag lines; severe weather warnings” and biblical flood expected”. The BBC is wildly inaccurate but generally more cheerful if only because it’s symbols offer weather than may be rainy, cloudy OR sunny all on the same day. The Met Office is just an electronic old school Wincy Willis type cloud augmented with a random forecasting generator; Warm Spells with the possibility of trout later” kind of thing.
All of them predict that May will be a month in denial about it’s place in the seasons and would much rather be March but only if February isn’t available.
Still it’s not all bad news. This morning I successfully found, and pushed beyond, the adhesion limits of a slick tyre on an wet road. This rather perturbing incident perfectly coincided with a head unencumbered by anything more protective than a thinning layer of hair. It was either my cat like Mountain Bike skills which saved me from imbuing tarmac through a process of accelerated osmosis, or a vice like grip on the bars and a swift prayer to the Gods. Probably the latter then.
Weekend weather (consulted three websites, checked tingling in war wounded left leg, examined tea leaves) is going to be poo. What with someone else now tasked with the painting of the barn, who knows what mischief I’ll be getting up to? I believe some DIY may have been tentatively planned “ ready the strimmer.
Oh and to pass the time until the sun has got his hat on once more, I’ve been creating a top five weather songs;
Crying in the Rain – Whitesnake
Leaning on a Wet Frame – With apologies to John Denver
Feel free to do better. Shouldn’t be hard 🙂
Alex, please fix the weather asap.
I was invited to a University reunion in Birmingham(?) this weekend which would have interfered with my extensive training programme of riding more miles than Andy Shelley. So, I decided to cycle there, have it large in the bars and cycle back the next day, hopefully negating the hangover about halfway back.
Even the most optimistic forecast predicts headwinds and shit loads of rain for both days. So, I should take the car…but no, guess what idiot bragged to his mates that he was going to cycle there. Now I’m committed (in both senses).
I’m sat here in lycra waiting for a break in the monsoon to allow me to actually set off. Meanwhile Helen has placed an advert in the local paper for a normal husband.
Clearly, rain songs aren’t hard to find; U2’s “Rain” demonstrates this rather well.
I’d put forward November Rain by the incomparable G’n’R, except that, well, it’s May. And The Scorpions’ Fly me To The Rainbow would be daft unless you’re riding Northshore with a hyuuuuge ramp.
So:
Turin Brakes – Rain City
Elvis Presley – All I Needed was The Rain
Croaky Old Bob – A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall
Beta Band – Dry The Rain
And the winner is ……..this has to be Who’ll Stop The Rain by the deservedly little-known Vandenberg, possibly the most preposterous Dutch hair-metal band ever to have visited Newcastle in the 1980s. OK, so I’ll agree that this is an especially small sub-group, but nevertheless theirs was a thrillingly terrible cover version of Credence Clearwater Revival’s original.
Dave. Let me get this straight. You’re leaving SWINDON to RIDE to BIRMINGHAM. Everything capatilised fills me with horror 🙂 I’ve just seen a reasonably well fed cow fly past the window in a flat trajectory so I think you’ll be ok at least one way. Going up the M6 just to add further spice to your lunacy? Madman, Helen should be fine with that advert – it’s hard to see how anyone could be less normal. One eye, comes with own sausage collection and stack of badly behaved wolverines? Yes, you’ve passed.
Nick – I’ve never heard of any of those bands except possibly Elvis.
Well, I made it.
The ride out there was not too bad apart from the hour of rain and the 2 sections signed “Unsuitable for motors”. The drinking session was poor, no real beer on offer and I somehow managed a pint of cider in with the rubbish lager during the night. It was very nice of my mates to skip the evening meal and go straight to the drinking, oblivious of my carbo loading needs.
The ride home was horrendous as I struggled against wind, rain, a full english breakfast and that 50/50 flatulence that makes you want to “stop and check”.