Gabriel Spreckelsen Brown: Notes from the brighter side

Iwrite this – well, I write this in the knowledge that what I say is really rather controversial, and it is this: I actually love rain. Especially in summer.

Obviously I’m not keen when it rains solid for consecutive days, when it seems like there is more water than air in the sky – after a while that can get remarkably tedious. And rain in the middle of winter – when, by rights, it should be snowing – is a hazard, because my garden has little drainage and after a period of determined rainfall, the garden becomes what is essentially a swamp. The dogs refuse to go out for fear of sinking. I refuse to go out for fear of sinking! It all gets quite existential.

But when it rains in a less extreme way, it can feel like the sky is giving life, feeding our plants, our crops and our reservoirs, enabling us to drink and wash things. Water is a closed cycle, so every time you wash your hands to the tune of Happy Birthday, you know that that water has been all around the WORLD and been here on Earth since the dawn of life. Who knows how many people it has touched with its life-giving properties?

Is it any wonder that the refreshing, bolstering, boosting smell of fresh rain after a dry spell is among humanity’s favourite aromas?

And rain in summer! It washes away the dust, pollen and stagnation of dry periods, invigorating the very earth; it intensifies the vivid colours of green trees, rainbowhued flowers and the blondeness of Bath’s limestone; it cools down the atmosphere, giving a strange sense of order to the intoxicating chaos of hot weather.

Perhaps this is just me. I suppose when your childhood beach holidays consisted of six consecutive rainy days (the seventh and last day always being divinely sunny), in which you still have fun splashing through the dampened sand, rain takes on a visceral, evocative significance. And then, upon getting home, soaked to the very skin, you peel off your clothes (more water than fabric) to have a hot shower that reminds you water is not in the least the enemy? It doesn’t get better than that.

I don’t know if you have a similar opinion on rain. Perhaps the monotonous greyness riles you. Perhaps the rain reminds you of sadder times, or you are pathologically unable to not think of Singin’ in the Rain whenever it begins. But when the heavens open, and I’m not caught out, I find it a joy.