Weather whinges

TALK of the British obsession with the weather (mail) brought to mind a strange experience I had in 2006.

We had an idyllic summer with nonstop sunshine and no rain for more than three months. In early September, I embarked on a taxi journey. We’d travelled only a short distance before spots of rain hit the windscreen. ‘Here it comes again,’ the driver said. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘This constant rain, all day every day, same year after year,’ he said.

‘Where have you been for the last three months, the amazon rainforest?’ I asked.

‘ no,’ said the driver. ‘ I live in

Morecambe,’ and his weather rant continued.

Clearly his mind was programmed to believe all of our summers are wet and miserable despite the evidence to the contrary — a peculiarly British affliction. ALASTAIR WILSON, Morecambe, Lancs. in THE hot summer of 1976 (Mail), i’d been working late in London and faced a long drive back to Manchester.

Feeling tired, i pulled off the north Circular road into a quiet avenue, wound down the windows and settled on the back seat for a nap. Suddenly, i was sprayed with cold water.

Startled, i jumped up and screamed — but i wasn’t as terrified as the man watering his garden at 2am during the heatwave ban on hosepipes.

He ducked down behind his hedge and i drove off quickly. Feeling refreshed, i was at least wide awake all the way home. Mrs NORA COWARD, Ramsbottom, Lancs.