The British Art of Talking about the Weather

The British language has a remarkable capacity for describing the weather, particularly rain, which can drizzle, mizzle, spit, sprinkle, shower, pelt, lash, teem, pour, bucket down, chuck it down, come down in sheets, rain cats and dogs or fall in stair rods. From a spot of drizzle to a biblical downpour, we have a phrase for almost every degree of dampness and rarely miss an opportunity to use one.

It is a vocabulary learned young. In Incy Wincy Spider, the rain washes our unfortunate arachnid down the waterspout, only for the sunshine to dry everything out and allow him to begin again. In Doctor Foster, a trip to Gloucester ends in a puddle so deep that our hapless doctor vows never to return. Meanwhile, Rain, Rain, Go Away gives voice to a wish that generations of British children have shared. Before we can even tie our shoelaces, we are already negotiating with the weather.

And negotiate we must. On average, it rains on 159 days of the year in England, almost 43 per cent of the time, making an umbrella less an accessory than an exercise in sensible foresight. Perhaps this is why rain has seeped so thoroughly into our language. We are under the weather when feeling unwell, caught in a storm in a teacup when a minor matter becomes a major fuss, and warned not to rain on someone's parade when we threaten to spoil their moment. When misfortunes arrive in quick succession, “when it rains, it pours” neatly captures the feeling that one problem has brought several friends along with it. Even our finances look to the skies, with savings put aside for a rainy day.

Yet our relationship with rain is not entirely one of complaint. There is reassurance in being right as rain, optimism in the promise that every cloud has a silver lining, and determination in the familiar pledge to carry on come rain or shine. We even offer someone a rain check, postponing a plan today in the hope of better conditions tomorrow. Rain, it turns out, can be a nuisance, a metaphor, an excuse and a promise of better things to come.

All this makes the British habit of talking about the weather particularly curious. Why do we discuss it so often, even when nothing of consequence has happened? The answer may lie less in meteorology than in manners. Weather is the ideal icebreaker, a subject everyone understands and nobody needs to take personally. It allows us to complain without appearing to complain, find common ground without getting too familiar and fill an awkward silence with something more useful than silence itself.

At a bus stop, in an office kitchen or beneath the awning of a shop, someone remarks that it is “a bit miserable out there”. Another agrees, perhaps adding that the rain is “doing the garden some good”. The same conversation plays out day after day, between friends, colleagues and complete strangers. Talking about the weather has become a familiar social ritual, so ingrained in our daily lives that we rarely stop to wonder why we do it at all.

Of course, it helps that England gives us plenty to discuss. We may grumble about the rain, but we have also built an entire culture around preparing for it. The wellington boot, the waxed coat, the umbrella tucked beside the front door and the familiar glance at the sky before leaving home are all part of the national routine. Few things are more British than watching the clouds gather and deciding, with misplaced optimism, that it will probably hold off.

Perhaps our obsession with the weather is simply the result of living with something we cannot control. We cannot persuade the rain to stop, but we can name it, joke about it and make conversation while we wait for it to pass. And if the skies do open, there is always one last certainty to fall back on.

After all, it is, as we say, “lovely weather for ducks”.