Dry Spell
Something funny is happening in London. I didn’t notice it till a friend pointed it out. It hasn’t rained in more than a month. That’s highly unusual for a city known for approximately four sunny days in the year. We have been counting maybe thirty and more with several heatwaves along the way.
The other day, I was invited to a lovely operetta, and despite leaving on time and checking on Google Maps that the tube was operational with no reported technical glitches, I managed to miss the entire first half. Why? Because the tracks were too hot and the service first got delayed, then cancelled.
The Thames visibly shrinks during the day. The lush green parks are now dry and brown. You can’t step out without checking the weather forecast. And the houses, built for trapping heat, don’t help. Hosepipe usage has been restricted for 26 million residents across the UK.
So I decided to have a little word with the oldest resident of the city. It has survived Romans, Vikings, droughts and the British. It can survive a conversation.
Low Tide
S: Howdy old T, why so tame lately?
T: Been having a bit of a dry spell.
S: Tell me about it.
T: You come bearing sandwiches?
S: I was peckish.
T: I like visitors.
S: If it’s any consolation, I look at you all day from my window.
T: Boasting much?
S: A little.
T: You can look all you want.
S: You’ve been here long.
T: Longer than I care to remember.
S: You came back from the dead.
T: London poured its sewage into me.
S: Yeah, people can do that sometimes.
T: I didn’t smell divine.
S: We can’t always.
T: We must try.
S: This isn’t normal though. People are forgetting their umbrellas at home.
T: It’s climate change, what do you expect?
S: Fair warning?
T: It’s different from what I have survived so far.
S: Does it worry you?
T: Of course it does. Things will have to change. People will have to change.
S: But?
T: A difficult season is still a season.
S: What do you do?
T: You flow.
I looked at the river. It was temporarily less of itself. It was still mighty.
