Ah, the North. Home of Greggs, Geordie Shore and a myriad of geography-specific delights that the South cannot steal, and that I cannot live without. What I would like to lose, however, are the menacing, mood-ruining clouds currently threatening Newcastle with floods of torrential rain.
Not only do we have to compete with deadlines, projects, extracurriculars and a functioning social life; now we must complete this obstacle course in driving rain and painful wind, hampered by heavy waterproof coats and inside out umbrellas.
You know what’s never a good look? Arriving to a lecture with a patchy red face, wet hair plastered to your scalp, eyes streaming from struggling through what may as well be a hurricane. I face this humiliation daily- though perhaps what is more irritating is the group of students who got an Uber in and are coiffed to perfection. Damn you, forward-thinking big spenders.
You know life is bad when your pasty is ruined...
Imagine the horror of, following hours of tiresome lectures or mind-numbing library study, reaching into your bag only to find that your treasured Gregg’s chicken slice is sodden. What cruel spirit of fate brought such disappointment to your Tuesday? That’s right- rain.
With Christmas drawing ever closer and my internal festive junkie raring to be released, all I want to do is go Christmas-crazy. But how can I, when the weather is so disgusting? Christmas markets really aren’t the same when you are so wrapped in layers that it’s impossible to see mince pies over your third scarf. The light switch on is always fun- unless every time you look up to appreciate the twinkling beacons of the festive season, you are temporarily blinded by gigantic drops of water.
Style over substance? I don't think so
What’s more, with this climatological onslaught of terror, the people are divided and confused. No longer can we abide by certain Newcastle clichés - put away your suede Adidas superstars and hang up your hoop earrings- neither are practical in the veritable gale we must fight through to get to campus. It’s every man for himself; I find myself scowling at those sensible enough to invest in Doc Martins as they smugly step through puddles, and they in turn may envy my completely superficial decision to buy a puffer jacket. Not such a waste of money now, is it, Mum?
The diabolical meteorological conditions thrust upon us by some cackling deity can also sever friendships. There may be an altercation over who gets to hold the umbrella, whilst their cohorts are drenched on either their right or left shoulder. Perhaps, with this barrage of freezing wind, housemates will argue over whether or not to finally turn on the heating. Who knows what arguments may occur, but a piece of advice? Blame the rain.
