May it fall as a blessing, not as a curse. So goes the ancient prayer inviting us to embrace days of rain.
It is a prayer that would not be welcomed by anyone on the floodplains the UK persists in filling with houses. It would be met with outright hostility by any farmers who are now unable to do any of the things they need to do in February because their land has had literally 40 days and nights of rain.
For most, though, weather affects mood, not home or livelihood. The recent wet spell has been so abundant that residents of these islands may feel they are running out of ways to express stoical acceptance of the inevitability of rainfall: “the garden needed it”, “lovely weather for ducks” and the rest.
Like Wales’s “raining old women and sticks” and the Midlands’ “black over the back of Bill’s mother’s”, these phrases defy all efforts to find their origins. The origin – and the content – is beside the point.
A conversation about whether it looks wettish out or whether they say it’s going to last at least until the end of the week comes across, to people who are unused to the British climate, as an obsession with weather in general and rain in particular. Really, this is nothing like weather-report-as-conversation. It is a ritual, its participants offering the phrases often without being aware they’re doing so.
The only other place where this happens – where there can be four distinct rains in one day – is Japan. Similarly positioned between a vast landmass and a vaster ocean, Japan too receives weather systems from places cold and warm, fighting for dominance on arrival. Elsewhere, weather follows more predictable cycles, so discussing it seems daft. Brittany comes close to Britain: there, like in the Lake District and the west of Ireland, you can buy tea towels and fridge magnets “celebrating” the certainty of showers.
Another phrase with no known origin is: there’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing. Certainly, if an inhabitant of Britain’s rainy islands decides that there is no point waiting for it to stop – for when will it stop? – and makes it their choice to go out while rain is still falling, they’re accepting that it will do what it will do. Their only option is sartorial: denim is bad; wool is much worse; worst of all by far is the precise suit Rishi Sunak wore to call a general election at a sodden lectern in May 2024.
Once you’ve given in to rain, the next step is to enjoy it. In Four Weddings and a Funeral, when Carrie finishes kissing Charles and announces that she hadn’t noticed the weather, the point is not that the embrace was passionate despite the rain. The rain is more romantic, just like with Helen and James in Sliding Doors, just like Raleigh and his cloak for Elizabeth I and all the other rains of national legend. The greatest romantic scenes are in rain, not in parching heat.
This is why chummy forecasters who use expressions such as “I’m afraid it’s going to be another wet one” hit a bum note. The British relationship with rain is not one of simple regret; it’s better summarised in a phlegmatic Manchester remark. “If you can see the Pennines from town, it’ll be raining soon. If you can’t see them, that’s because it’s already raining.” Archetypal Lancashire humour … except that the same quip is heard in Devon (“If you can see Dartmoor …”), Edinburgh (“the Fife coast”), Swanage (“the Isle of Wight”) – and everywhere else.
• Alan Connor is the Guardian’s crossword editor. His book 188 Words for Rain is published by Ebury (£16.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
