KEY POINTS:
Call it hubris. Call it superciliousness. Except that superciliousness is really kind of just another word for hubris ... Call it whatever you want, but I strongly believe, right here and now, that if I write a column about how much it has sodding well rained on sodden
Auckland, that I will answer John Fogerty's plea ("I want to know, who'll stop the rain") and stop the rain.
It is 7.29pm on Sunday, August 24, as I sit at my computer to start this column. It is raining. This is not an unusual occurrence. In fact, it is time for the rain to end. I strongly believe, in the way that I believe that watching the All Blacks somehow influences whether they win or lose, that if I write a column now about much it is raining in Auckland that, by the time the column appears, on August 30, people will be sitting round reading it going, "but it hasn't rained in a week, what's this moron on about?"
Of course, in doing this, in boldly saying there is some vast, mystical connection between this column and the weather, I am bestowing unto myself godlike powers. Hence the hubris. But be aware that I do not do this lightly; for in the pantheon of gods, the job of Weather God (Auckland Region) is generally considered the suckiest of all Weather God jobs - especially just lately.
It may be true or it may be apocryphal or it may simply be me getting it wrong, as usual, but I believe the Inuit indians of the Arctic Circle have many many different words for "snow". We in Auckland need to take a leaf from the Inuit book and find many more words to describe "rain", in the many and varied forms we have enjoyed it over the last few months.
Your standard, typical and distinctively Auckland rain, I would argue, is the sort that falls straight down, with great force. It is like you are the tent-peg and it is the sledgehammer trying to drive you into the ground. There definitely needs to be a name for this type of rain.
But of equal prominence this winter has been a type of rain with a more Wellingtonian influence, in that it falls with the venom of Auckland rain but comes at you sideways. It is also much colder than typical rain, but the squalls, as they blast through, do make cool patterns on the surface flooding on the road.
Similar to this rain, but louder and flashier, is what we might call Westie Rain, because it sweeps in thunderously from the West. It is like the Heavy Metal of rain, in that it comes with a light show and is quite noisy and can keep you awake at all hours while it parties on.
Another quite typical form of Auckland rain is what I like to think of as Shop Rain. I call it this because it generally only happens when it was quite nice out so I have decided to walk to the shop without taking either umbrella or raincoat. Naturally, while I am in the shop, it will start raining - usually quite heavily. This is a very cruel and heartless form of rain and it needs a much harsher name than Shop Rain. Bastard Shop Rain is probably a good starting point.
(As an aside, the old adage that taking an umbrella with you in Auckland is a sure-fire way to make sure it doesn't rain isn't actually true. It is mostly true, except in the case of the Wellington-style rain, which takes umbrellas and turns them into inside-out useless pieces of fabric and twisted metal.)
Then there are the more subtle types of rain that Auckland dishes up. The misty semi-rain that sort of hangs in the air like humidity you can see and which gets into everything and makes life thoroughly unpleasant. There is the heavy, ploppy rain that isn't actually rain but is actually the wind blowing water off the trees as you walk under them. Then there is that good old Auckland fave: the rain out of the clear blue sky.
So many types of rain, so few words to do them justice in all their infernal glory.
Not that we'll need any of these words for a while, of course, because now that I've written this column it will have stopped raining. I know this for a fact because it is now 10.08am on Monday, August 25 and it is not raining.
Mind you, those are some fairly dark clouds on the horizon over there; and I am about to walk to the shop and I don't have my raincoat or umbrella with me.
