stotting

Here in the valley, there are twenty different types of rain. It starts with light drizzle, it works its way up to sweeping in sheets across the valley, and ends up bucketing. Last week, it was stotting down.

Stotting isn't from Yorkshire, it's a Northumbrian word, and means, more or less, 'bouncing'. Tennis balls and ping pong balls stot about. If you drop a lot of dried peas on a hard floor, they stot, and I imagine it would work with ball bearings, too. I like that word because it sounds like exactly what it is. Especially when you're in it. Forget the umbrella. Never mind the anorak. The hat slows it down a bit, but it gets inside every defence. After a time, the sogginess gets everywhere, and a cold misery sinks in. The only other thing that might help is gills. Or a periscope. Working from home helps a bit - we can both do a lot without going outside into the monsoon. But that only lasts so long before we have to take a deep breath, and brave the storm.

So far, the river has stayed at the bottom of the garden. It has been almost up to the fence a few times, then gone down a bit, then come up a bit more. We've seen a few ducks whizzing past on their way downstream at high speed, wearing that special kind of baffled-duck expression they always have when the world won't stop going past as they paddle in the other direction. Just upstream there's a footbridge, and there was a very excited whirlpool just near it - we were sure if we stopped and watched, a duck would come by and do a few laps before being spat out the other side. But we were getting wet, and we wanted to get back home and put the kettle on.

There is one good thing about grey, wet, wintry monsooning horizontal rain stotting off the windows with the sound of soggy machine-guns. It makes you really enjoy curling up in front of the fire in the evening, with good music or TV, a good book and a steaming mug or glass of something nice. It feels as if you've earned the reward.

The forecast for tomorrow is horrible. But spring isn't far off, and after that will be summer. And the rain will be warmer. May your firesides all be cosy, and your soggy feet dry off nicely.