Dear Winter

You nearly had us foxed this time.  Usually, when we’re all wandering around in our flip flops and t-shirts, you arrive about the middle of August, and ruin all our fun.

I must admit, it was pretty clever to wait until the night of 30^th September to show your bold face. 

I bet I know what happened. I bet Mother Nature rang Father Time yesterday evening.

“Shite” she would have said “we forgot to send winter to the Irish.  They must be in a heap with confusion, the poor eejits, I’ll sort it out now.”

“Ah don’t worry about them” Father Time might have responded.  “They’ll be grand, it’s nearly knocking off time, we’ll leave it till the morning.”

And I bet Mother Nature went along with it, probably tempted by Father Time’s invitation to come out for a post work vodka on a Monday evening.

Or maybe it's just me who likes to think of the forces of nature fraternising in this way.

One way or the other,  the poor harmless Irish all got up for work this morning, to discover that winter had arrived, literally, overnight.

It took His Nibs and I almost two hours to get to work.  It usually takes an hour and a quarter at most.
There was water sitting on the surface of the N7.  Maybe the traffic jams were caused by this, with everyone being very careful of aqua planing and other frightening possibilities.

But I think it was because we were all so confused.  I think the weather has been so nice for a couple of months that we all became confused and bewildered, and forgot how to behave in the weather conditions that prevail in our fair land for about 363 days a year. 

Nobody could handle the water being sprayed up on windscreens from the lorries driving ahead of us.  Nobody could cope with the poor visibility, or the need for lights on cars in the middle of the day.

Or maybe everyone was just so depressed at being plunged unceremoniously back into our usual weather that all the motorists just stopped on the N7 to cry their fecking eyes out before they got to work.

I suppose we’ll never know.

All I know is that you’re back with a vengeance today.  I can hear the wind whipping around the house, and the rain slapping off the windows.  It’s a sound I haven’t missed, to be honest.

I suppose you think you’re clever, Winter, don’t you?  I suppose you think you had us all on the edge of our seats, hoping and praying you’d forgotten about us this year, did you?

I’m afraid I have news for you.  We’re Irish.  We may have all been a bit crestfallen when we came out our front doors this morning.  But actually, ever since the sun put his hat on last May, we’ve been looking at the blue skies, and daring to go out without a coat, while all the time muttering under our breath “This won’t last, it can’t do” and “We’ll pay for this, once the winter comes”.

You’ll have to try some other nation.  We knew, deep in our hearts, that this was coming.  The Irish are just too cynical for your trickery.
But if you want to feck off again and send the sun back, feel free.