Rewind three months into the past, of shorter days, strong winds, and the inevitability of grey clouds; and, you would never have appreciated a rainy day in the U.K in the same way.
Today, however, is a bit special.
You see pedestrians walk pass you in their soaked hoodies, heads titled down, faintly blushed hands in their pockets. You struggle between looking down to prevent your feet from drowning in the countless puddles, and then up to avoid barging into someone. No one wants to stay in the rain for long, all the more get entangled in some pointless misunderstanding.
But that’s okay, because people here settle disputes quickly.
You continue walking.
Your shoes get soaked at first, and then the rain eventually reaches your socks. Your life is a wet mushy mess now. But wait, that’s not the worst part. Soon, you will start to feel the wrinkles of your toes as though you’ve been swimming for an hour; then, attempt hopelessly to shift them inside the wet mushy mess of your previously fresh-out-of-the-dryer socks. You try anyway. There’s no difference.
You would think Superdry is a good brand. Think again. Why are the fuzzy insides of your sleeves wet? Paid fucking 75 pounds for this. What was supposed to be the hybrid of a winter jacket and windbreaker, instead has become as soaked as a cotton shirt from F.O.S. What the shit.
In the land of friendly pub-goers in the North, and snobby suits in the South, you don’t remember the U.K for its sunny days and lush green hills. You define this place by its gloom, its brisk walking hooded pedestrians, but most importantly…
its fucking shitty weather.
Today was one of those days. You look out the window, and see clouds, puddles, and the never-ending downpour and you just know that you’re in the U.K.