The weather we’ve had these first couple of weeks back has been a turbulent transition to say the least. Mild days, the hangover from summer; the inevitable English overcast grey days; aggressive rain and howling winds. While many will complain, I’d like to take a more optimistic standpoint: thank God for this rubbish weather! Thank God for the wind and the rain that seems to permanently batter Sheffield’s autumn.
First off, can you imagine the alternative – freshers’ week in a heatwave?! The sticky walls of Roar would be infinitely stickier; your introductory ‘welcome back’ lectures would be warmer, comfier and infinitely harder to stay awake through; freshers’ flu would mingle with hay fever into an apocalyptic mega-virus of coughing and sneezing that would flood the halls of the Diamond with mucus and tissues. Freshers’ week already teeters on alcohol-poisoning-based-masochism, so can you imagine sunny day drinking added into the mix?!
This week of bad weather has felt like a dress rehearsal for what’s to come – a pre-season friendly before a long campaign of wind-battered walks up and down the various Sisyphean hills of Sheffield. New jumpers and coats are tested and subconsciously ranked on a mental graph (style on one axis, warmth on another). Trainers are condemned to be filled with newspaper and balanced on radiators, and new Doc Martens are ‘broken in’, our blistered feet toughening by the day. We learn of every leak in the new house we’ve moved into that the landlord ‘forgot to mention.’ Some boilers can’t stand the pressure. Bins tumble. But all of this is preparation for a long winter ahead. It’s essential.
Autumn and all of its swirling winds and unexpected, suede-ruining downpours are intimately tied to the start of University, and with Sheffield University in particular. The Pinterest of Sheffield University students would be filled with warm hats, battered raincoats and tough boots (none of those Bristol Uni harem pants, thank Christ). The image of the Peak District, the pride of Sheffield and inspiration for many great novelists, is one of wild weather. Bad weather is part of our identity. While my summer back home in Somerset was sun-filled and lovely, it was dull. The rubbish weather we’ve had here is a bracing reminder that we’re back, we’re windswept and we love it.
