Today is dreeky, a lovely word to describe bad weather. “The kind of weather which makes you miserable.” If you live in Belfast, you get used to it, what else can you do? Flanked on the West by mountains that usher in moisture from the Lough, fed by the Irish Sea we are bound to get rain.
But there is something about dreeky conditions that wears you down. Maybe it’s the dull, wet, greyness. It’s as if someone got hold of the sky’s dimmer switch and went too far, so that you would never know that there’s a bright, blazing star behind that curtain of misery.
Coats, scarves and gloves should really be reserved for the harsh winds of December, but I’m from the South, so I wimp out and stay warm. As the Norwegians might say, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing choices.
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