The Weather
I feel bad; bad because weather is the sort of subject you resort to went all other conversation has run dry. Yet it deserves a mention in its own right and so, undeterred, I will venture into the well-trodden preserve of polite small-talk. I have an old CD from an American alternative-rock band called The Choir . I think I liked it; certainly one particular lyric sticks in my mind. “Never trust a weather girl, she smiles as she kills you.” Now, I’m wary of reading too much into other people’s lyrics, but today I’ll use it as a commentary on the unreliability of weather predictions. We’ve had two holidays where we were promised no rain and unbearable heat. It rained most of that week in the south of France and the weather was meek and mild in Tulsa, the first time we visited. (We visited again during an ice storm that plunged Oklahoma into a state of emergency!) Now we’re in Mostar, promised the hottest summer we’ll have ever experienced. It’s barely been spring yet and we’re now into ...