Whatever The Weather, We'll Have Something To Talk About

I was very fond of the somewhat portentous way the BBC delivered the news this morning. After weeks of speculation, they declared, it's been announced that 2012 was not in fact the wettest year since records began. A perfectly timed pause, just long enough for you to think that they were about to go onto the next item. Then: 'It was the second wettest'. The reason, apparently, why it felt like it was in fact the wettest year of all time (all gags about Fifty Shades Of Gray aside) was allegedly because of the sheer variety of the weather throughout the year. I always thought that such variety, such unpredictability, was the only reliable factor of British weather.

But we always seem to be surprised by the rain. No matter that it's meant to be a British cliche, rain appears to always surprise as a much as a season finale to Breaking Bad. No matter that pretty much any film set in London, whether by UK or US filmmakers, is required by cliche law to have a downpour at some point ("Is it still raining? I hadn't noticed") - either that, or a street shrouded in fog - despite all of that, you can pretty much guarantee that, the next time you're at work, and it starts to rain, everyone will display open mouthed astonishment at the window. 'Look, it's raining,' someone will say in an awe struck voice to another. Their colleague will nod sagely, as if they have never seen such a thing before. 'Look at it come down,' they will reply, thereby signalling that they have at least a rudimentary grasp of how both rain and gravity work. A third work colleague will usually pass at this point. 'They said on the weather that it would rain,' they will intone thoughtfully, providing a pause long enough for everyone to come to the conclusion that they are about to voice: '... And look at it. It is.' Everyone will look, a little longer, at the sheets of water slashing down, fascinated, perhaps thinking that they'll never get to see such a wondrous sight again in their lifetimes.

Obviously, I'm being slightly too harsh. The weather is something for people who aren't exactly friends to talk about and to share in common, and generally speaking, your work colleagues aren't exactly your friends. Weather, therefore, is a reasonably safe subject to discuss, since politics are an unwise topic to bring up (unless your work colleagues are actually politicians, in which case such discussions are probably actively avoided), and your private romantic life is always going to be discussed, but only when you're not actually in the room.

So called 'safe' conversations are - well, safe, but they're not always the most interesting, and certainly not if we continually resort to talking about the weather. And if you think that's a bit rich, since I've just filled up a blog talking about exactly that, well then, I'm not going to argue with you. Or maybe I am. It might make the conversation more interesting.

NaNoWrimo : Day 1

Had a Ghostwalk tonight (well, last night, now) that was particularly well attended despite the appalling weather simply due to the fact that it was Halloween. I was a little nervous because a couple of friends were in the audience (friends always seem to rock up to the Ghostwalk exclusively on the nights that the weather is bad), but it all seemed to go pretty well, people seemed to enjoy themselves, and there were enough skull shaped lollipops to go around. 

It being Halloween, the Ghostwalk was later than I usually do it, and by the time I got home, it was already past the witching hour - in other words, November 1st. While this meant that there was no immediate need for me to start shaving (more about that another time), it meant that before I was going to go to sleep, I could already get started on my NaNoWriMo novel. To have any chance of completing 50,000 words by the end of November, I need to be logging about 1,700 words on a daily basis, which I'm already fairly confident that I'm going to fail miserably at. But it's only the start of NaNoWriMo right now, which should mean that I'm more able to hack out a few hundred words than I will be ale to in, say, two weeks time, even if those words make absolutely no sense whatsoever. 

While I have a rough idea of what's going to happen when in my story, I haven't really thought about it too much in advance, preferring to write it out almost as free form association. Tonight, that was the right thing to do, although obviously it may not work that easily for the rest of the project. I'm already aware that in the 2 or 3 pages I hacked out tonight, there are some terrible turns of phrase, and occasionally (on more than one occasion, in a piece of prose that lasts less than 4 pages), I'm jumping rather too suddenly from one subject to the next in order to make a point. 

Refreshingly, however, none of this seems to matter. All the prep and pep talks on twitter right now, which are mainly on USA time (where NaNoWriMo won't kick in for a couple more hours) cheerfully remind you that whatever you've written in a month's time, won't be ready in any way for publication. This month is just to get the damn thing (in this case, the damn thing being a very first draft) down on paper. I'm fairly confident that there will be at least 200 times in November where I'll really regret signing up for NaNoWriMo, and that anything I write is truly dreadful. What's comforting, though, is that by hacking out a thousand words tonight, I've already had that reaction twice already. Which means I've only got to go through it 198 times more. 

NaNoWriMo Wordcount: 1,177.  

Hot Under The Collar

Another Ghostwalk last night. These past two days have been about the hottest and sunniest of the year so far. Now, I realise that that last sentence could easily have been replaced with 'these past two days have been the sunny ones' with no real effect on accuracy, or reality, but it's worth mentioning because of the Ghostwalk costume.

As you may or may not know, or even care, in order to do the walk, I have to wear a suitable outfit, all Victorian cape and top hat. Despite this get up, an inordinate amount of people I pass, while leading a large procession of tourists down Brighton Lanes, still feel compelled to ask what's going on, almost as if they half expect the answer to be a New Oreleand funeral. Tell you what, though. If it is going to be a New Kreleans funeral, then I at least want some chap at the roadside to be asking 'Whose funeral is it?', then some dude behind him to say 'Yours, baby', before sticking him with a walking stick blade. And that's my obscure filmic reference for this column sorted.

Anyway, I digress, which regular reader(s?) of this column will attest readily is a real issue, and it's something I'm working on. Look, there I go again. Anyway, Ghost Walking in sunlight. It's an odd thing, since invariably you get a very different atmosphere in the winter months, when it's already dark by about four o'clock, but because you're in a seaside town, the potential audiences can be somewhat smaller. Conversely, in the summer months, the audiences are noticeably bigger, but the Walk is done before it even begins to get dark. It means that in July and August, the walk never gets overly spooky. No-one seems to mind, however.

But it is noticeable just how hot it is this year when you're dressed like an 18th century undertaker. It's very hot and sweaty (the top hat is particularly punishing, and adding a full cloak seems to be asking for a full on collapse), but the effect is worth it: you clearly get a very different response from audiences dressed in the hat and tails as opposed to, say, a t-shirt and jeans. Whenever it all seems to get too hot, it's worth remembering the words of Charles M Schulz, who, as the creator of the long running 'Peanuts' cartoon, should be your go to point for most words of wisdom. Snoopy is spotted dazing in the sun, and it's lamented that, as a dog, he's always stuck in a full coat of fur. Snoopy takes a moment, and responds blithely: "Some of us prefer to sacrifice comfort for style ..."