I know, talking about the weather is small talk and quintessentially British (also, by the way, quintessentially everywhere else I’ve ever lived). But it’s been six years since I last lived through a Scottish springtime, and I’m having a hard time adjusting.

Partially, I blame that on the fact that we had a ridiculously nice April, all things considered. It was sunny and warm and delightful for the better part of three weeks, which is long enough for you to get used to it, unfortunately. The last week and a half, though, things took a turn for the worse.

The rain’s not a problem. It’s pretty much expected, and at least it hasn’t been cold. It’s the pattern of rain that really does it, as it’s not something I’ve experienced anywhere else, a uniquely Scottish phenomenon.

It will be dark and dismal and windy, and then out of nowhere it starts throwing down rain. It might not be torrential by definition, but it feels like it with all the wind. Then, ten minutes later, it stops, and there will almost inevitably be a break in the clouds and a brief golden moment of sunshine, before the dark clouds blow back in again. And then it will do the torrential rain thing again for some time.

Really, it’s almost as if, and pardon me for getting uncharacteristically poetic and/or cheesy, the sun’s a parent poking their nose in the door after their child’s been squalling for them. Reassuring, before we, the children, are told to Get To Sleep and the door is shut.

Almost endearing, as long as you don’t get caught out in it.

Now run along before I start talking about being confused by sunrise/sunset times.