The English staple discussion of the weather probably stems from a social unease, that debating the chances of rain serves to deflect attention from less trivial matters. But to me it is almost the most serious conversation I can have, apart from about aches and pains, another typically English conversation starter, at least for the older half of our population, of which I guess am now a member.
Is there ever a perfect day? Too wet, too cold, too hot, too cloudy, too humid, too close, too still, too windy? Not really, the weather is purely a vehicle for tongue wagging, we are never happy whatever it is, but we just make the best of it. 63 days of walking – I certainly don’t want 63 wet ones or 63 hot ones. Even 63 dry ones, which might seems like a perfect outcome, and we’d be fretting about drought and water companies would take that as an excuse to raise tariffs and impose hosepipe bans. I would imagine the perfect weather would be for it to rain at night and be dry but not too warm during the days. So if I am actually the star of 2014’s version of The Truman Show, that’s what I want. Any one particular day: dry, about 10-12 degrees, some cloud is ok, sufficient that I don’t get sunburnt but not so much to force headlights and streetlights on in the middle of the day. And lay off the wind, unless it is behind me.
Weather forecast for Cornwall in early February looks pretty settled, temperatures ranging between a low of 4 degrees to a high of 11. Nothing in the remotest bit reliable yet for the big opening day (16th February) but, as long as there isn’t snow and we don’t have several consecutive days’ rain, I’ll settle for that. I would like a nice first fortnight while I am in what I think is the toughest part, psychologically as well as physically.