CRB mentions that this feels like the windiest year [he] can remember. Certainly every year since around 2000 has had the weirdest weather I could at that point remember, if not necessarily the windiest.
When I first began cycling a hardcore roundtrip to work (2003–2004 was the year of my Headington–Abingdon commute) I felt over the course of that single year the raindrops getting splashier, and the environment I was passing through becoming somehow less hospitable. It’s easier to ignore that sort of thing in a car: positive feedback at work on the small scale.
I stayed home on Tuesday as the weather looked too wild to cycle in. At around 3pm, when the thunderstorms finally rolled in, laminae of rain were being torn off the Cotswold-gradient sloping roof of an outhouse behind the nursing home. Each layer of water retained a centimetre-thick diffuse integrity, as it curled up and whirled over to our garden, only to collapse and shower it with a secondary storm of rain. The wind was essentially yanking rainwater back up from where it had settled, to hurl it down somewhere else: the water cycle at work on the small scale.
Windier, weirder, harsher. We’ve got about a hundred months. Put out more anoraks.