lilliebet

There are certain times I remember, particularly from my teens, that are fixed in my mind not so much by their relevance or importance but by the weather conditions at the time.

Like dancing one night, in the car park outside the pool hall in flip flops and hawaiian shirts with Shanta. The heavens had just opened after weeks of hot, hot sun and we must have looked like members of some primitive tribe giving thanks to our rain god. In a strange way, I suppose we were.

We had a hurricane here in 1987 (I don't think we've had one since). Most of the country were affected. Six of the mighty oak trees that give Seven Oaks in Kent it's name were ripped up by the roots after having stood there for hundreds of years. I was living in Birmingham at the time and I slept through the whole thing! I woke up in the morning to find my bed covered in leaves but that was it.

I remember taking my son, about four at the time, to the gardens near our home to play in the snow. It was the first time he'd seen snow. I had as much fun as he did and afterwards we sat steaming in a cafe warming ourselves with hot chocolate. One of those moments when it feels really good to be alive. Even now, whenever he goes to a cafe, he drinks hot chocolate - I wonder is it something rooted in the depths of his mind.

It's never hotter here than Australia; we never have more snow than Canada or more rain than India but I suppose it's those weird peaks and troughs in our normally dull, grey weather that make it so remarkable. Whatever it is, we Brits will always find reasons to talk about.