No two the same

It doesn’t help that Radio 4’s weather forecasts don’t square with the BBC website’s own, or that it’s never really clear which sweeping tranche of UK Oxford belongs in (Midlands? South? South-East (we get the transmissions)? Greater London?)—perhaps it shouldn’t matter because the UK is so tiny, but it makes enough of an empirical difference to the location-nonspecific, but climatically more detailed, weather forecast to convert the uncertainty in geography into a thorough soaking of my pasty body.

I’m also sick of these dark mornings, incidentally. I can’t tell the weather without flipping up the dust-sheets we still have in place of curtains; I can’t do this without attracting the attention of some several dozen postal employees in the building opposite. As it was, the weather at 7.15am (crucial, crux, crossroads at which point I have to turn left to my bike or right to the bus stop) was whacking at the ground, whereas my bus left the John Radcliffe roundabout in a stroking drizzle and arrived at Abingdon under clear skies that I could happily have had over my head.

… Basically, I’m pissed off.

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