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[title]Can you hear it? That damp, dripping, ‘weathery’ kind of sound? This July, London has had its own near-constant ASMR soundtrack; a white noise of rain, window-rattling storms, and, when the heavens take a breather for an hour or two, the constant ‘drip, drip, drip’ of our collective tinnie-in-the-park dreams going down the drain.
While much of Europe bakes in 40 degree heat, enduring sleepless nights and fears of wildfires, things are entirely different on these damp isles. Mother Nature gave us a taste of sunshine last summer, and we collectively blew it by whining that we were ‘too hot’ and the ‘trains didn't work’. So rain, clouds, and entirely underwhelming temperatures it is.
I know I’m meant to be sad about this enforced slug girl summer, one where we’re all forced to slither about on damp pavements and let the wildly high pollen count fill us unpleasantly with mucus. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is London how it’s meant to be. Maybe, even (and I say this at the risk of being beaten up by an unholy coalition of disgruntled cricket fans and Lululemon-wearing Clapham Common yoga toughies) this is London at its very best.
Horrible summer bin smells are replaced by a distinct after-rain scent that the pretentious call ‘petrichior’
In summer, the sun is king, a tyrannical dictator who demands that you spend every waking hour devoted to his worship. Out on London Fields, thousands lie before him, their half-nakedness a sign of their humility before their lord and master. Your free will is removed by his mute commands. You must ‘make the most of it’, which means lying on a dog-pee-soaked patch of dusty grass instead of on your nice sofa at home. You must drink Aperol Spritzes. You must eat olives, overpriced deli items and ‘girl dinner’ (actual meals are forbidden). You must bathe in the sweat of strangers on the tube, uncomplainingly accepting this suffering as tribute to the omnipotent London summer.
But when it’s raining, your will is your own. Other, weaker Londoners will have fled indoors, leaving you to stalk the empty, shining streets like they’re your shining dominion. Feel like a Manzies pie and mash? So be it. Wear whatever you like, it’ll be hidden by a raincoat anyway. Stamp in the puddles: fuck your shoes, they had it coming, the leathery bastards! If you have a pet, it will hold you personally responsible for the wet weather, which is extremely flattering. You’ll feel all-powerful as they meow their discontent about not being able to torment big buzzy flies (cats), or grunt in melting-eyed sadness as your drag them out for a walk (dogs). ‘Sorry,’ you'll tell them, ‘I just prefer it this way.’ And soon, astonishingly, you’ll find that you do.
Pubs aren’t just places you sneak into for a mid-picnic wee, they’re golden havens where sodden umbrellas dry off
Because rainy London is an absolute delight. By day, the grass is a vivid shade of WhatsApp green, the brick buildings glisten, and the horrible summer bin smells are replaced by a distinct after-rain scent that the pretentious call ‘petrichior’ and the normal call ‘nice’.
Still, it’s at night that rainy London is at its most magical. Striding through the dark, dank streets, you really can believe this is the stalking grounds of Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes. Pubs aren’t just places you sneak into for a mid-picnic wee, they’re golden havens where sodden umbrellas dry off on damp swirly carpets and thoughts of sticky orange drinks are forgotten in favour of the mellower comforts of cider or Guinness. Clubs turn into damp bacchanals, fringes plastered to foreheads, inhibitions washed away. No one wants to go home, back ‘out there’, so everyone’s up for one last drink. When you finally leave, the night bus is a place of wonders. The windows become misted with the steam rising off everyone’s clothes, making the neon signs and street lights light up the clouded glass with red, yellow and pink – our answer to the Northern Lights, aurora bus-realis.
In an unpredictable world, sometimes it’s comforting when things hold true to type. London was made to be rainy. When it gets too hot, things in this city get smelly and/or break. Enjoy the rain. Embrace it. Dance in it! Maybe even dare to leave your umbrella at home. You’re going to get wet, so you might as well go swimming.