The Irish rain
But, a light rain this morning has put me in mind of the topic of Irish rain.
Therefore, as you quietly and gracefully yearn for more of my scribblings, I thought I'd leave you with a sample from Colm Tobin's book, Surviving Ireland.
Limerick Rain. Spitting Rain. Sideways Rain.
In Limerick, they don’t have dry spells, instead they say
‘the rain is waiting’
In Ireland, no subject occupies our day-to-day conversation like
the weather. It is a constant wellspring of drama. Nothing stays the same
for long. Dramatic winds can pick up on the calmest of afternoons. Cold,
rain-soaked mornings suddenly turn hot and humid. Scorching summer days
can veer off and turn wet and nasty. The truth is, in a country where the
folk memory of civil war lingers in our subconscious, where the collective
wounds from Saipan still lie open and exposed, it is vital to have
something non-controversial to blather on about. The weather
does exactly that job. So, to prepare you for life in Ireland, let’s look
at some of the main categories of Irish weather, beginning with the
most common of them all – the rain.
The Rain
If the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain, then the
rain in Ireland falls mainly on . . . well, the Irish. Ireland is
chiefly famous the world over for two things – being green and being wet.
It’s slightly unfair. The truth is, eastern counties only experience about
150 wet days per year. That’s a lot of dry days in between. Admittedly,
for some western areas this figure shoots up to 225 wet days. On rare
sunny days in Castlebar, it is not uncommon to see pale and shocked
locals staring skywards at the sun and applauding. We all know that
rain can be disastrous. It can soak into you and sit around on the skin,
inviting in all sorts of plagues and illnesses. It can mockingly destroy the
impromptu plans of barbecue organizers. It laughs in the face of race
meetings, making the going ‘soft-heavy in places’. Believe me, there’s nothing
worse than when the going is soft-heavy in places for a horse in a hurry.
We have numerous adjectives with which to describe it
– lashing, pissing, bucketing . . . if the Inuits have fifty words
for snow, the Irish have about a hundred variations of ‘Bollocks, I’m
after getting soaked’. So, in order to keep you as safe and dry as
possible, here’s a small compendium of the various categories of rain to
watch out for.
Stage 1: ’Tis a Grand Soft Day, Thank God
Gorgeously atmospheric, soft day rain is best
experienced around the mountainous, coastal fringes of the west of
Ireland. A subtle cross between mist and drizzle, soft day rain is a
mysterious and subtle form of precipitation. For the first ten
minutes of contact, it appears benevolent and feels like it is having
no great impact. You might even chance going out without a coat. It’s
refreshing, almost. Unfortunately, before you know it, you’ll be wetter
than a film with Hugh
Grant in it. We all know the soggy horror of being caught outside
on a dank, miserable, wet, muggy, damp, slippery, moist,
misty, soaking, drizzly, sloppy fucker of a day.
Wetness: Low at first, very high eventually
Stage 2: Spitting
Wetness: Fair to middlin’
Stage 3: Regular Rain
Regular Irish rain is the most straightforward example of
precipitation. It truly is the working class of the water cycle.
Visible to the naked eye, honest in the manner in which it
descends from the sky, unpretentious to a fault . . . regular rain is
sound. Of course, like any rain, it can soak you to the skin if
unprepared, but you were probably asking for it.
Wetness: Light if well prepared; severe if you act the
spanner
Stage 4: Lashing
When it’s lashing, it’s no laughing matter. It doesn’t just
rain cats and dogs. Cows, zebras, stoats and sloths have often
been observed. When it’s lashing, you may stay indoors. It’s true
that lashing rain can be a wonderful thing, e.g. when it’s beating off the
window and you’re snuggled up by the stove with a book like you’re in an
ad for Dulux Weathershield. But not if you’re outside. I’ve seen grown men
sitting in the middle of the street, defeated by lashing rain; puddles
forming around their shivering bodies, praying that someone
might come along and shoot them in the face.
Wetness: Severe
Stage 5: Bucketing Down
Bucketing rain can elicit startled observations in
open-plan offices. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking biblical!’ You know it’s serious
when Irish people begin to openly express concern about
rainfall. Going out in biblical rain is not advisable and can lead to
unfortunate outcomes, e.g. death. However, one of the wonderful
side effects of bucketing-down rain is a little-known
phenomenon called rain euphoria. Rain euphoria occurs when you get
so completely and utterly soaked that you begin to mysteriously enjoy
the experience. People with rain euphoria can be seen skipping down
streets, leaping into water fountains, swinging off lamp posts and ripping
their clothes off, all the while laughing maniacally into the clouds.
Wetness: So wet it’s funny
Stage 6: Limerick Rain
Very little is known by the wider population about
Limerick rain but it is one of the meteorological wonders of the
world. Sure, typhoons, hurricanes and tsunamis grab the headlines
for their dramatic and destructive impact – huge physical events that
rip through cities in front of your eyes. Limerick rain, by contrast,
causes its destruction over a longer period and in a much more insidious,
parasitic manner. In Limerick, they don’t have dry spells, instead they
say ‘the rain is waiting’. Limerick rain is unique in that, on average, it
falls for up to 378 days per year. Not only that, but it can defy physics
and pass through barriers. It’s not uncommon, for example, to be
lying in bed in Annacotty and the rain mysteriously begins cascading from
the ceiling. In fact, Limerick is the only place in the world where it is
known to rain regularly indoors. There is nothing unusual about a family
gathered around the TV on a Saturday evening watching The X Factor under
an umbrella. It doesn’t end there, however. Limerick rain has a
horrifying, almost supernatural intelligence. It seeps through
gable walls like the magician David Copperfield, creeps up into
crevices, defying gravity and making a mockery of
modern waterproofing technology. It laughs in the face of oilskins. When
Limerick rain falls on your head, it doesn’t stop at the skin. It slowly
soaks into the brain, starting at the stem, seeping up through the
cerebellum, spreading around both hemispheres, riddling the frontal lobe,
where it sets about poisoning your very thoughts. It forms new neural
networks that run like gutters in your thinking. You can see the effects of Limerick rain on the streets
– people shouting ‘Shitfuckbollocks!’ for no apparent reason, old women
trying to shift the statue of Paul O’Connell, crows singing themselves
into electricity pylons just to end the unrelenting wetness. Limerick
rain destroys careers and breaks up marriages. It causes
untold anguish before flowing out of the sockets of your eyes and
the orifices of your ears, dragging with it any store of happiness
you had built up in your childhood. In all honesty, Limerick rain
is more like Ebola than a meteorological event. But at least it’s not
as bad as sideways rain.
Wetness: Not measurable using current instrumentation
Stage 7: Sideways Rain
Sideways rain combines two of the worst things about living
in Ireland. The wind and the rain. It is truly an elemental
clusterfuck. Sideways rain usually sweeps across your torso like
a samurai sword, ripping into your guts and shearing the very skin
from your cheeks. Sideways rain is almost impossible for a person to fend
off. Although Limerick rain can invade your consciousness, you have some
hope of escape (e.g. leaving Limerick). Sideways rain, on the other hand,
attacks you in terrifying waves. If you are upended from the rear by
sideways rain, it will wait for you to get to your feet before
launching another full-frontal attack, knocking you on your arse again.
If you attempt to get away, the wind and the rain will conspire
to roll you around in mid-air, like a crocodile killing a pig.
You really haven’t a hope. The only appropriate response to
sideways rain is to lie down and die, leaving all your worldly
possessions to the rain.
Wetness: Catastrophic
Ok, so Colm has set the mood. Now I want you to pick your level of rain, imagine yourself in a cozy Irish country cottage looking out the window above and out into the rain.
Now click the two links below - Chieftains' music, remember Matt Molloy - and settle into a bit of your own mood. Mellow, with perhaps a little touch of melancholy. No high stool, but a comfortable chair, a close-banked turf fire, and a little bit of Jameson's, neat...
Ok, so Colm has set the mood. Now I want you to pick your level of rain, imagine yourself in a cozy Irish country cottage looking out the window above and out into the rain.
Now click the two links below - Chieftains' music, remember Matt Molloy - and settle into a bit of your own mood. Mellow, with perhaps a little touch of melancholy. No high stool, but a comfortable chair, a close-banked turf fire, and a little bit of Jameson's, neat...
