‘But you’re probably used to it, right?’
This is what people in Boston always say to me when it rains. I nod solemnly, relieved that they're referring to the fact that I’m from an undeniably soggy island, and not that in my early-morning haste, I’d forgotten to change out of my King Triton outfit. (Pointy hair, no bra, lustrous, free-flowing eyebrows.)
And they're right, to an extent. I grew up in a country where sitting in the canopied bit of a damp pub garden, stubbornly huddled in the vermilion glow of an outdoor heater is practically a national pastime. But somehow, even with twenty-six soggy Aprils under my belt, this one managed - yet again - to take me by surprise. Every year, I’m hoodwinked by those tricksy sunshine days in March; lulled into a false sense of security by a brief riot of blossom, short sleeves, and urgently celebratory outdoor-ness.
‘Goodbye, friends!’ I’ll cry, mainly addressing my (extensive, treasured) thermal legging collection, as I relegate my wintry clothes to the back of my wardrobe. When everything smells like sun-warm skin, it is genuinely beyond my comprehension that it could rain again in my lifetime. Inconceivable! (You can't tell, but I just did a bang-on impression of Wallace Shawn in The Princess Bride.) So long, boots! I have no need for you in this rain-free world. It's canvas plimsolls from here on out!
Naturally, less than 48 hours later, I’m soaked to the bone, plimsolls gummed to my crestfallen, sockless feet.
I wish I was the kind of person who welcomes the rain cheerily, remembering that it's vital and all-renewing. I want to love it for its constancy.
Sadly the closest I can get to this Gaian level of acceptance is when the heavens open on my day off, and I peer out of the window, cradling a mug of tea with both hands, and conspiratorially declare to nobody in particular that it's absolutely chucking down, and I should - don't you think? - probably stay in. Used sparingly, this is an irrefutable free pass to spend the day tucking into a book, and as many rounds of toast as I please. Nothing makes me feel more like an earth goddess like eating marmite soldiers under a duvet. 
On the days when I have to plod soggily to work, neither my hair nor my sense of equilibrium fully recovers. In April this makes me mopier than usual. May flowers be damned! I want to be a gambolling spring lamb! Instead I’m a cat that's been plonked under a tap against its will.
The fell walker Alfred Wainwright famously claimed that “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.”
I would counter him with this scene:
Last week, as I set off for work, I was ready to take on the elements. I was kitted out in my big, oiled leather puddles-shall-fear-me boots, with my anorak buttoned up to my nose. The coat is dotted with pink, purple and yellow pansies, and has a soft jersey lining. The lining is the silvery colour of plumply expectant clouds. This is the sort of coat to arm you against dampened spirits! I thought. The hood was held resolutely in place by my bike helmet, clipped under the chin. Arguably this would have been a more acceptable look had I been cycling. But alas, this was not the case. My hood falls down with the slightest breeze (with hindsight, this was not a good trade-off for what I was sure would be such a mood brightening print) so there I was: a pedestrian in a bike helmet.
Sadder still, even this v trendy pre-emptive measure wasn't enough to protect me, or what little remained of my dignity, when that worst Rain Thing happened: an enormous lorry drove through the mother of all puddles while I was waiting to cross the road. To call it a puddle is really a disservice - this was a veritable street sea. Any number of adorable Pixar fish could be lost in that puddle at this very moment. Needless to say, it did not fear me. The deluge was swift, severe, and so dramatic that a stranger actually patted me sympathetically on my shoulder. I gave him my best whaddya gonna do smile. The tops of my big, sensible boots had been breached. They were now taut like water balloons. I squelched to the other side of the street, slop slop slop, and promptly burst into tears.
When I got home that night, I was still damp, possibly from marinating in self-pity all day, and needed to cheer myself up. It was time to wring out my lugubriousness, like grubby water from a soft yellow sponge.
I decided to make a list of my favourite rain words. Deluge. Inclement. Brontide. Even though the dictionary swears it isn’t so, I refuse to accept that brontide - a low thunderous rumbling - has nothing to do with the Brontë sisters. Can we agree to pretend that it does?
Cagoule. That’s one I can never resist saying out loud, just to make sure it’s as good as I think it is. It always is.
Hoppípolla - an Icelandic word for jumping into puddles! Isn't that lovely? Much better than puddles jumping on you. (In Soviet Russia, etc.) I like saying that one out loud too, but quietly, because I'm lacking confidence in my pronunciation.
Despite being one of my favourite words, petrichor - the way everything smells earthy and cautiously hopeful after it rains - is one I’ve yet to get much conversational use out of. Please advise.
I learnt some fantastic rain words from Landmarks, Robert Macfarlane’s life-affirming book on language and landscape. Like smirr! That’s from Shetland, meaning “extremely fine, misty rain, close to smoke in appearance when seen from a distance”. And thunder-lump clouds. In the gloriously onomatopoeic department (another word I don’t get much conversational wear from, bafflingly) he gives us gulching - an Essex downpour, and mizzling - a fine, light rain in the North-West of England. Down-come, from Yorkshire, is the kind of call-it-like-you-see-it word that I have limitless time for. Land-lash is a magnificent word for high winds and heavy rain.
Land-lash. Smirr. Brontide. Such moody, evocative words. The kind that make you think oh yes, I've seen you before. I know just what you are. Or if not, then to wonder.
And that's when I realised why I’d been feeling so glum. Okay, not why exactly, but how. The nature of it.
I’d just been calling it rain.
I’d been so bogged down of late. Too busy plodding from place to place, stooping and hunched and bowed. I don’t think I’d looked up at the sky even once. I'd forgotten to be curious.
I think it might be impossible to be curious and grumpy at the same time. One always cancels out the other. But I sometimes I forget to be curious. Or how to be. That happens when I’m feeling slow and sad and tired. When it’s been drizzling for days on end, and I start to suspect that feeling like a raisin is just my new state of being.
I scrambled out to the porch. What kind of rain was it actually? What was the air like, apart from just wet? It felt good to investigate, because that meant breathing deeply. It felt good to breathe.
I looked up. The sky was mostly grey, with a ribbon of unexpected purple. Heavy and mottled with thunder-lump clouds. It was a good sky, just doing what it does. Just doing its best. Same, sky.
A few hours later, just as I finished writing this, the sun came out. Because of course it did.
So long, boots! I won't be needing you again!
The Cameo
My guest this week is Daisy Buchanan.
What’s your job title/profession?
I am a writer. (I’ve been writing full time for nine years and I still feel a bit panicked about saying that!)
What would you love for people to know about your work?
Hopefully that I write to make people laugh, and to make them feel less alone.
What might people be surprised to learn about your work?
I think it might be about the way I work, rather than the work itself. I’m really lucky because as a writer, I get to share my work with a lot of people, and so everyone sees the finished products. But the process can be painful - from occasionally having (polite!) disagreements with editors about copy, to pitching ideas that no-one wants! I recently had a pitch turned down by a website I’ve dreamed of writing for, and I hope that I’ll try again, but I’m aware that I don’t share my failures like I share my successes, and perhaps I don’t paint a complete picture of my work.
What made you/helped you to choose what you do?
Writing was always my dream job, and it felt very organic - even though I was super scared of trying for a long time (I wanted it so badly that I convinced myself I’d fail!) I wrote features for university papers, fell in love with journalism, then graduated, got fired from my first (non writing) job and realised it was time to try this, as I have nothing less to lose. I became an intern at Bliss magazine and I’ve been writing full time, for money, for nine years.
What’s your perfect breakfast/lunch for a workday?
(What do you actually have for breakfast/lunch?)
Avocado, salmon, eggs (preferably scrambled by my husband who makes the best eggs I’ve ever had.) I do eat a lot of eggs, but breakfast often doesn’t happen until lunchtime!
What’s your perfect time to wake up / go to bed?
(When do you actually wake up / go to bed?)
I am VERY boring, and if I’m not out, I’m in bed by ten, asleep by 11. (If I’m out I start panicking after midnight, because I KNOW I won’t be on form the next day!)
What’s your alarm sound?
The best thing about freelancing is that I don’t usually bother with one! I’m usually awake by seven - although if I’ve got a shoot, an interview or a plane to catch I will set four or five alarms, with five minute gaps, and lie awake anxiously anyway, obsessing about oversleeping.
Do you have a set morning routine?
I usually drink coffee in bed with my husband, listen to radio four, dick about on Twitter and look for things to pitch. I like to be at my laptop or in the gym by 9. But it’s usually 10. And I know I sound obnoxious - I’m rarely properly showered and dressed before 3 o’clock in the afternoon.
Do you have a dedicated/preferred space for writing? If so, what does it look like?
At the moment I’m at my dining room table, and sometimes I switch on the sofa. I’d like to go out more, but the nice thing about my flat is that it has plenty of plug sockets and I know the wifi password.
Preferred stationary/tools of the trade? Essential work items?
I buy tons of Kate Spade stationery and then fail to take it out of its packaging and write everything on my phone or knackered MacBook.
Do you ever listen to music while you write?
Radio Three for lyfe! Or Bach. I get very, very distracted by words. But when I have my afternoon shower, I always listen to 6Music, and if I’m cramping up because of my terrible posture, I dance about on my own to hip hop / RnB. I am never not cheered up by Ice Cube’s It Was A Good Day.
What are your work hours like? Do you try to create a routine for yourself or is that impossible given the nature of your work?
I’m better than I was - when I became a freelance writer I would sit in the loo at a dinner party writing for an early deadline before I turned work down. But generally I get much more done in the morning, and my brain gets quite slow after 3/4PM.
Do you work with fixed goals in mind or take it day by day depending on what comes up?
A bit of both, and when writing books it’s much easier to work to word-counts/chapters. But I do get a bit obsessive about trying to complete at least one piece of work every day.
What inspires you?
Reading (Nora Ephron and Joan Didion especially), going to exhibitions (LOVED recent Rauschenberg and Hockney), going outside.
What’s your favourite thing about your job?
It’s really varied, I get to choose what I do, and I make people laugh.
Least favourite?
The uncertainty, the occasional isolation and being plagued by imposter syndrome (but maybe that’s me!)
What do you do to get through days when you just don’t feel like it?
If I’ve got an urgent deadline, I can always force myself to do it with the promise of wine/a nap/some Netflix after. If I’m feeling low and nothing needs doing immediately, I try to turn my phone off and go to the movies.
Go-to work sustenance, meal, drink or snack-wise?
Fizzy water, peppermint tea, TONS OF BLACK COFFEE (until I start to feel paranoid!), lots of soup.
What’s your favourite part of the day?
Hometime! Oh, no, wait, I AM home.
Least favourite?
I often start to feel a little low around three or four in the afternoon, when I begin to doubt the day’s progress! It’s harder in winter.
How you define a good/successful day?
Sometimes I feel like I’ve only been successful if I’ve filed some copy or had a piece of writing published. But lately, I try to focus on the mental health successes too - when I’ve been feeling overwhelmed or anxious, and gone for a walk, or had a nap, or done something nice for myself that makes me feel better and calmer.
What’s been your favourite failure? One that you learnt a lot from, or one that you can look back and say ‘well I got through THAT, I’m unstoppable!’
Probably getting fired from my first job. It took a long, long time for it to feel like a favourite failure, not just a failure! But it was a humbling experience at the start of my career, and I think that it’s helpful for us all to remember that we will have peaks and troughs. Not to think “Oh God, everything is going well so this means it’s all about to go horribly wrong!” but not to put too much stock in success and failure and how it makes us feel, because those feelings can really throw us off balance. We will have ups and downs, life isn’t linear.
Any hot tips for the old work-life-balance conundrum?
If you have a spare afternoon and you’re panicking about how to fill it, go to the pub/park/movies! We all spend so much time working out of hours, and we don’t slack off enough. We need time away from our desk - it’s brain food.
Do you have any hobbies/passions outside of your work?
I love going to exhibitions, I watch a LOT of TV, I cook! I ADORE cooking when I can do it in a leisurely way, with a glass of wine, because I have to use my hands and concentrate and I can’t look at my phone.
If so, how do you make time for them? Where do they fit into your day/week?
I probably cook one ‘ambitious’ dinner a week where I make things from scratch. It’s nice because I know there’s a purpose to it - we have to eat something, so I can justify a bit of faffing about with toasted pine nuts.
What’s one piece of advice you would give to someone who wants to do what you do?
If you want to be a writer, I’d say that you must read everything you can get your hands on. Magazines, novels, non fiction - it feeds you. Read what you love, and read stuff you hate and disagree with too - it’s all inspiring and informative and will shape your voice. Also read Joan Didion, Eve Babitz and Nora Ephron because they are the women I turn to over and over again when I feel like I can’t do it.
What’s the best piece of advice someone’s ever given you?
It’s a bit cheesy, but “It’s better to be one person’s single malt whisky than everyone’s cup of tea”. We can’t be liked by everyone, and I still find that very hard to accept - but then, we don’t like everyone! When I started writing, I wanted to be all things to all people, but soon people started responding to very specific subjects - sex, feminism, Made In Chelsea - and I realised editors want a writer who has a strong angle on a clear subject. That said, I think it’s impossible to be a journalist and not learn a little bit about a lot of things. It’s great for pub quizzes!
What’s your top tip for getting shit done?
“You find the fun and snap! The job’s a game!” Seriously, break it down. This is a line from my one of my favourite writers Marian Keyes and her book The Woman Who Stole My Life - “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!” Take the task that scares you and walk towards it with tiny steps. If I’ve got a big feature, and a long deadline, I get so, so nervous. But if I know that I can bash out the first 500 words and then procrastinate as much as I like, it’s easier, and often I exceed the goals I set myself. And there are always, always rewrites! Don’t get it right, get it written!
Daisy's book How To Be A Grown-Up came out this month (hooray!) and I'm chomping at the bit to get my hands on a copy. The subtitle alone has filled my wizened heart with joy:
Daisy is Grazia UK's resident agony aunt (which is just as well because she's incredibly kind and extraordinarily wise) and a regular contributor to the Guardian, Esquire, Glamour, The Pool, and The Sunday Times.
She also co-writes a newsletter called Schmancy! with fellow journalist, Lauren Bravo. Every missive is a total joy, and you should sign up immediately.
Follow Daisy on Twitter @NotRollergirl.
Some Music
This week's playlist is a collection of rainy day songs.
I find it strangely comforting that the impetus for a lot of brilliant music was probably little more than having a soggy bottom from sitting on a wet bench, or someone experiencing the sinking realisation that they’d been betrayed by once-waterproof shoes.
These songs helped me go from this:
To this:
You can listen to it on Spotify here.
A Poem
Umbrella
by Connie Wanek
When I push your button
you fly off the handle,
old skin and bones,
black bat wing.We're alike, you and I.
Both of us
resemble my mother,
so fierce in her advocacyon behalf of
the most vulnerable child
who'll catch his death
in this tempest.Such a headwind!
Sometimes it requires
all my strength
just to end a line.But when the wind is at
my back, we're likely
to get carried away, and say
something we can never retract,something saturated from the ribs
down, an old stony
word like ruin. You're what roof
I have, frail thing,you're my argument
against the whole sky.
You're the fundamental difference
between wet and dry.
Rival Gardens: New and Selected Poems (University of Nebraska Press, 2016)
Links!
The Only Thing Angela Merkel Loves More Than Governing Is Rummaging Through Her Enormous Handbag. This made me feel slightly better about spending a wedge of every day rifling through my seemingly bottomless backpack, usually on the hunt for a scrumpled-up tissue.
Some Nose-Blowing Suggestions
If you've spent too long in the rain, this tissue review might come in handy.
If you need me, I'll be listening to Lin-Manuel Miranda's Grammy acceptance speech on a loop. I've yet to see any evidence that he isn't sunshine in human form.
This brightened up my day: over the course of his adult life, Charles F. Feeney - 'The James Bond of Philanthropy' - has donated over $8 billion to programs that support higher education, public health, human rights and scientific research. He has now given away the last of his fortune.
Five ways to raise kind children, according to a Harvard psychologist.
An excellent excuse for curling up indoors on a rainy afternoon (not that you need one): David Bowie's top 100 must-read books.
Fran Lebowitz's By the Book interview is heaven.
You’re organising a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?
None. I would never do it. My idea of a great literary dinner party is Fran, eating alone, reading a book.
Whose opinion on books do you most trust?
Mine.
Drip, drip, drip, by day and night. I love this article about the rich tradition of inclement weather in English Literature.
The "unwet" is Gay's theme, and the word is more evocative than "dry". The wet is out there, the rain is coming down, but Gay and his reader are protected. [...] He is drawn to different forms of shelter, noticing how the hat roofs over the wig, how the wall of buildings at the side of the street offers a refuge from the chaotic middle of the road.
And that's it! See you next week!
Love,
Katya
The Katch-Up's header illustration is by the brilliant Tamsin Baker.