Forty Days of Rain

America has Groundhog Day (although it's a European tradition) and Punxsutawney Phil.

England has St. Swinthin's Day and Winchester Cathedral. Apparently, the medieval church builders, being deprived of meteorology, came up with their own poetic means of forecast.

The rhyme goes 'St Swithin's Day, if it does rain, full forty days, it will remain. St Swithin's Day, if it be fair, for forty days, t'will rain no more.'

It certainly looked wet at Winchester today.

While I'm not taking the weather personally, it does seem like the clouds are conspiring to acclimate SoCal me to London life as quickly as possible. It is breaking me of the desire to buy floaty sundresses and open-toed sandals, which is a Very Good Thing as soon closet space will become a barely remembered dream. Better to use what little storage I will have for clothes that can actually serve a purpose.

But the dreary light is getting all of us down, locals included. According to GM.TV, this is the coldest summer in fifty-seven years. Living in perpetual November is just making us dread the actual November (and December and January and February). Without memories of summer sun to get us through the winter, it's going to be a long cold dark one indeed.