Stranded in the PO2

It's raining. Again. The isolation I feel at being in the grim North of Portsmouth is further compounded when the weather is this bad. In the Summer, I will happily meander down to the sea front with a spring in my step but, strangely, when there is a full-scale downpour I don't feel so compelled. It's dark too. And cold.

By constantly complaining about the weather, I do feel that I am bowing to the stereotype of being "British". We queue and we complain. Usually about the weather. As Brits we find it hard to deal with both ends of the spectrum, having neither the stamina or patience to endure sub-zero temperatures and rain, nor the Mediterranean stubbornness when faced with 42 degrees! We seem to like the middle road - about 25 degrees with a bit of sun. Give us a parasol, a beer and some chips and watch us grin :D

Where I live, you don't need a weather forecast. Our TV is magic and can predict the weather. Guaranteed, if there is a storm coming, the Sky TV will turn itself off. 30 seconds later, the heavens will open and the gitbag of an appliance will be vindicated! Does that mean I have Psychic TV?