In Norfolk you can buy these weather dolls – for all I know you can get them everywhere but I did see one from Norfolk recently. They can tell you the weather. They have a notice that goes with them that reads “If I am wet, it’s raining. If I am dry, it’s not. If my hair is horizontal, it’s windy. If it’s vertical, it’s still.” Or words to that effect. Apparently the dolls are very accurate if placed outside. I have a much better way of finding out the weather.
Today, as I was cleaning the fridge, I had a text. It was my mother asking if it was raining. It was, indeed, raining. There was thunder, lightening and a thorough drenching of a rain storm. Confused, I told her as much. She was watching Wimbledon and the rain was so heavy, it could be heard in Queensland as it thumped on the roof over centre court.
So, from now on, if I want to know the weather, I’m just going to text my mother.
The storm that assailed us here in the south east was indeed a doozy. A sudden, unexpected lightning flash took out a few trains, rendering them useless. Yesterday it was so hot that some trains were unable to move because the overhead wires melted. I think that says more about the state of the rail service over here than anything else.
I had just completed planting the self sown verbascum ‘seedlings’ (remember the banana custard?) that Mirinda had rescued in the ex-nettle patch when the rain started dropping on us. The sky was suddenly black and we high-tailed it into the house just as it started drenching everything.
I heard the roofers next door scampering down off the scaffold. I imagine a roof is not the best place to be during a storm. Particularly one surrounded by scaffolding like so many lightning rods just begging for some sort of Ben Franklin re-enactment.
The poodles hate thunder, particularly Carmen, and they huddled around me as I made an early lunch. Normally Carmen sits on a dining room chair and waits for her sliced meat treat but not today. She was at my feet, her tail down, misery in her eyes as the thunder rumbled directly overhead.
Sitting on the lounge, eating my baguette and watching the TV, she was stretched out, her head resting on my knee at an extremely awkward angle – anything to remain in contact with me. Every now and then her eyes would half open, just to make sure I was still there.
Day-z isn’t that keen on thunder either so she was tightly curled up in my lap. I was covered in poodles. I didn’t mind but Day-z wasn’t too happy when the phone rang and I had to move her.
Eventually the rain stopped and the sun weakly made an appearance, so we headed up to the park for a lovely walk where we only met one other person walking his dog. Everyone else must have been waiting a little longer, just to make sure the rain had gone.
The park smells so good just after rain. It’s all fresh and alive, sunlight glistening off droplets, leaves awash with water. Everything was perfect…until Day-z had an FSI. You take your eyes off them for one minute and…so, the perfect ruination of a perfect walk.
Back home, after giving her a jolly good bath, I returned to the garden for some intensive weeding, among other things, picking out the tiny little nettle plants that have sprung forth from the herb table. This is because I used our own compost which, clearly, harbours nasty little nettle seeds.
I’m now wondering if mum could tell me what the weather will be tomorrow.
I didn’t take many photographs today but spotted the roses from the kitchen window, looking somewhat wet after the rain and ran out to snap them.