It’s Raining

It must be because it rains so much in the UK that we have so many words to describe the event. This morning it wasn’t the first tweet of a bird that woke me but the hammering of rain drops on corrugated roofs. I arrived in the hospital and as I stood dripping in reception waiting for the lift a student walked up and, after a moment’s hesitation while he stared at the floor and constructed the sentence in his mind, he turned to me and said “today, it is raining dogs and cats very much.” That’s the beauty of language, it doesn’t really matter if you get the grammar all messed up, the meaning generally gets through. And before you start sniggering at his mangled effort, how would you say it in Mandarin then smartarse? Or French?

Actually, it isn’t that difficult. Rain in “yu’ in Mandarin (pronounced like the ‘you” in the Edinburghnese conversation opener “what the fuck you staring at?”) and ‘da’ is big (as in ‘de doo doo doo da da da da’ by the Police, not “da doo ron ron” by the Crystals). da yu = “Big Rain”. Not very imaginative.

“Cats and Dogs” I corrected him.
“why Cats and Dogs?” he asked
“its difficult to explain” I replied
“But you would say this”
“probably not”
“what would you say then?”
“it’s pissing down out there”

I used to worry about cursing in front of my students, but finally decided it didn’t matter because (i) I am educating them in real spoken English and (ii) they swear in Chinese in the lab all the time. I even used ‘bastard’ as an example of how you need context to determine meaning and why ontologies are useful in data analysis , e.g. “Edward the IV was a bastard” vs “you bastard, you took the last cup of coffee and didn’t make any more”

But leaving semantics and returning to the weather, it was a real downpour when I rode in this morning, a cascade, a deluge, a backdrop fitting for Noah and his ark. This wasn’t a Neil Sedaka “Laughter in the Rain” kind of downfall, frolicking through the park with your lover, it was wobbling along through the flooded street hoping you didn’t hit an open manhole while rivulets of rain run down your face and sting your eyes.

Aside from the acid rain on eyeballs thing, I didn’t hit any large holes and I have waterproofs so it didn’t really bother me. Not the fashionable togs you see on display by the twonks who run the red lights on their fixed gear bikes in Central London. Mine are more practical in design, thick sturdy waterproofs and a blue cycling cape to match. It even has a sensible hood with a draw string to pull it tight so the wind won’t blow it off, but I found it blocks my line of vision so I complement my appearance with a waterproof wide brimmed hat I picked up in Texas. If Clint Eastwood rode a bicycle in For a Few Dollars More, and if it was set in Manchester rather than Mexico, then this is how he would have dressed. Admittedly, a bandido with a Salford accent probably wouldn’t sound as menacing as a Spanish accent, (reading back over this before posting, having lived in Salford, I’m not so sure now) but I live in China so the problem is hypothetical anyway.

I stopped by the 24 hour McDonalds for a cup of coffee this morning to wait for my regular noodle house to open. I tried the Clint Eastwood walk, replacing the Ke-Chink, Ke-Clink of boots and spurs with a squeak-a-squish of damp trainers on wet floor. As I arrived at the counter I flicked back the cloak Clint style, spraying the girl behind the counter with a trail of water as she failed to duck in time. I even squinted my eyes as I tried to make out the menu without my glasses. But I made the mistake of trying to do the Clint voice in Mandarin which really messes up the tones and instead of saying “xiao3jie3 gei3 wo1 yi1bei1 ka1fei1” (little sister, give me a cup of coffee) it came out as “xiao3jie2 gei3 wo1 yi1 bei4ka1fei1” (little hero, give me one coffee blanket). Not having a six gun to shoot myself out of trouble I tried again in a normal voice and then slipped and slid over to a corner table where I sat there amidst a gather pool of water and tried to regain my compose.

I leave you with possibly the finest poem ever written about the rain. Jonathan Swift, not Neil Sedaka, but it’s only a matter of time before Sting puts it to music.

Careful observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find the sink
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine,
You spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches throb, your hollow tooth will rage.
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.


Now from all Parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their Trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all hues and odours seem to tell
What streets they sailed from, by the sight and smell.
They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid force
From Smithfield, or St. Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluent join at Snow-Hill ridge,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn-Bridge.
Sweepings from butchers stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud,
Dead cats and turnips-tops come tumbling down the flood.

Cats and dogs, cats and dogs…

Author: cyanide bunny

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