We have a wardrobe permanently geared for a 5-minute forecast window that includes ‘spitting,’ ‘misting,’ ‘drizzling,’ and ‘sudden, inexplicable glare,’ a sartorial nightmare catalogued for posterity at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Can I simply just say what a comfort to discover an individual who actually knows what they’re talking about on the net. You definitely understand how to bring a problem to light and make it important. A lot more people need to look at this and understand this side of the story. I was surprised that you’re not more popular given that you certainly possess the gift.
The London “dry spell” is a mythical beast, spoken of in legend. Old men in pubs will claim to remember one in ’76, describing it with the awe usually reserved for comets. It is defined not by a complete absence of rain, but by a period where the cumulative daily drizzle amounts to less than a millimetre. Pavements might achieve a state of “damp-dry.” People tentatively leave their coats at home. A faint, brittle crust forms on the soil in parks. Then, inevitably, the “breakdown” occurs: a proper, cathartic downpour that lasts for hours, refilling the reservoirs and the collective sense of familiar, damp normalcy. We are briefly relieved; the uncertainty was stressful. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Smog is mostly history, but London air now has a different personality: “Particulate Pam.” She’s a subtle blend of tyre dust, brake pad residue, construction site grit, and condensed exhaust fumes. On still, cold days, she settles over the city in a visible haze, giving the horizon a brownish tinge. You can taste her after a day in the centre—a faint, metallic tang at the back of the throat. She’s the reason a brisk walk is less “lung-clearing” and more “light filtration exercise.” Our famous parks aren’t just lungs for the city; they are scrubbers for Particulate Pam, using leaves to catch her before we inhale her fully. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The phrase ‘chance of rain’ here is a formality, like saying ‘with all due respect’ before an insult; the chance is always 100, a statistical certainty explored with a sigh at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Our hail is the sky’s mild disapproval.
We have a wardrobe permanently geared for a 5-minute forecast window that includes ‘spitting,’ ‘misting,’ ‘drizzling,’ and ‘sudden, inexplicable glare,’ a sartorial nightmare catalogued for posterity at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
A ‘downpour’ is the sky finally making a decision.
Weather warnings for ‘pleasant conditions’ are pending.
Can I simply just say what a comfort to discover an individual who actually knows what they’re talking about on the net. You definitely understand how to bring a problem to light and make it important. A lot more people need to look at this and understand this side of the story. I was surprised that you’re not more popular given that you certainly possess the gift.
The London “dry spell” is a mythical beast, spoken of in legend. Old men in pubs will claim to remember one in ’76, describing it with the awe usually reserved for comets. It is defined not by a complete absence of rain, but by a period where the cumulative daily drizzle amounts to less than a millimetre. Pavements might achieve a state of “damp-dry.” People tentatively leave their coats at home. A faint, brittle crust forms on the soil in parks. Then, inevitably, the “breakdown” occurs: a proper, cathartic downpour that lasts for hours, refilling the reservoirs and the collective sense of familiar, damp normalcy. We are briefly relieved; the uncertainty was stressful. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Smog is mostly history, but London air now has a different personality: “Particulate Pam.” She’s a subtle blend of tyre dust, brake pad residue, construction site grit, and condensed exhaust fumes. On still, cold days, she settles over the city in a visible haze, giving the horizon a brownish tinge. You can taste her after a day in the centre—a faint, metallic tang at the back of the throat. She’s the reason a brisk walk is less “lung-clearing” and more “light filtration exercise.” Our famous parks aren’t just lungs for the city; they are scrubbers for Particulate Pam, using leaves to catch her before we inhale her fully. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Our wind chill is just spiteful.
We dry our clothes via hopeful thinking.
The phrase ‘chance of rain’ here is a formality, like saying ‘with all due respect’ before an insult; the chance is always 100, a statistical certainty explored with a sigh at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.