And like an episodeth from the 1960s Batman TV series where ye Caped Crusader fighteth the bad guys and the words “Blam” and “Kapow” splasheth across the screen, God dideth punch the sun right in the gob.
Well, I figure this is the only way it could have happened. It must be written down in scripture somewhere, because last week I wrote on this very blog about how hacked off I was with all the sunny weather and the hot temperatures and how I wished for some rain and a good dose of cold.
And sure enough, a matter of mere hours after I posted the blog, the heavens opened here and the thermometer dropped about 12 degrees. I kid you not. I was gobsmacked.
The only conclusion I can come to is that God reads my blog and he got on the phone to the lower ranking sun god to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing hanging around in Seville when it was the end of October.
Up until last Saturday we were still getting temperatures in the early 30s. Then, just like that, the weather turned, the thermometer is now a distinctly chilly 21C and the rain is battering us with an enthusiasm it hasn’t mustered for about six months.
It’s wonderful. It really is. I’d nearly forgotten what rain sounded like. And as for the cold, well it’s a relief to be able to turn the fan off at night for the first time in ages.
Yes, 21C during the day is chilly. So chilly in fact, that during the night, we’ve even had to break out the duvet again. Up until Sunday, we’d been sleeping without covers. I even wore a jumper – for the first time since April – when we went out on Sunday evening. We were at a party and, I don’t quite know how it happened, but the women were all inside sitting around on the sofas while the men had banished themselves to the terrace outside, shivering slightly and occasionally saying “My, it’s a bit nippy out here isn’t it?” in Spanish. And it was. But even as I pulled my jumper sleeves down as far as they would go over my arms, I kept having to tell myself that if this were the UK we’d be sitting there in T-shirts, flip-flops and shorts reveling in our “Indian summer” (I always thought an “Indian summer” was just like a normal summer except that it happened in India).
When you’ve been through five months of temperatures not dropping below 33C and regularly being above 40C during July and August, 21C is cold. Trust me. It’s positively freezing, frankly.
Rain is good, it brings green back to our parched little valley. Cold is good, because it sends the scuttling cockroaches that hang around your bathtub during the hot months like a gang out of West Side Story, back to their subterranean shitholes.
But, of course, if this year is anything like last year and the year before that, we’ll have constant rain for the next three or four months and I’ll be back on here moaning again about how I’m sick of the rain and the cold and isn’t it about time the sun came out.
That’s Seville, you see. It’s a land of extremes. Loads of sun for flipping ages, then loads of rain for months on end. If only there was some sort of middle way the weather could take down here that kept me happy. Yeah, just me, no-one else. The UK may have generally crap weather, but at least it’s changeable. Wait 20 minutes and something new comes along.
I’m off there tomorrow for a few days. No doubt I’ll be freezing my arse off and grumbling again.
Mind you, I’ve got to look on the bright side. If my blog does in fact have the divine power to predict and even shape future events, as this last week has so clearly and unambiguously shown, then I hereby state for the record that I think I’m due to win ten million Euros on the lottery next week.
I’ll keep you posted.
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