An open letter from Ireland to the rain: "Come back, baby"
I never thought I'd be saying this. Honestly, I never in a million years thought I'd find myself in this position. But things have changed lately and I've acquired a new sense of perspective. I've come to realise that... I want you back.
I can't handle life without you.
Falling asleep without hearing you batter the roof and the windows. Waking up knowing that I'll be sweating before I even make it out the front door. I used to dread running for the bus in the rain... I guess I never thought about how horrible it would be to run for the bus in the heat.
And now I know. And it's made me realise that I took you for granted.
We had our troubles, but I'm far from blameless. It was my fault for always forgetting to bring an umbrella. I should know you well enough by now to know that going on a day out to Glendalough or Killiney Hill without a raincoat was just foolishness on my part.
Things have been falling apart without you. I don't know if you've seen, but hosepipes are banned all across the country. I find myself looking at my hosepipe and thinking "What I wouldn't give to use that hosepipe again. Give the car a good clean." And I know what you're thinking. You're saying to yourself "I was always asking you to clean that car when we had plenty of water" but there's just no need when it's raining. Now that you're gone... I've realised that there's all manner of things I could do with that hosepipe. Clean the driveway. Clean the windows. God, would-be possibilities are endless.
You've probably heard some rumours about me and the sun. Honestly, you might have even seen some... photographs. I want you to know that it's not what it looks like. Yes, I did have my shirt off but that's just because I'd gotten some ice cream on it. You have to believe me. We've been together so long, rain, so many hundreds of years. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. The sun means nothing to me. I've been thinking about you the whole time.
Maybe that sounds like I'm making excuses, but I mean it. You did so much for me that I ever even knew about. Since you've gone, I'm only allowed spend four minutes in the shower every morning. I foolishly thought that Ireland had enough water in reserve to keep our showers running if it stopped raining for two weeks but I guess that just proves what a naive sap I truly am.
And maybe me and the sun just... aren't right for each other. I mean, Irish Water immediately told us that we couldn't use paddling pools either. Like, as soon as Lidl put them on sale. This is the only time it will ever be feasible for us to use paddling pools. A heatwave is literally the only time a paddling pool makes sense. You don't need a paddling pool when it's raining. To be unable to facilitate the use of paddling pools while the sun is out seems like a major oversight.
And have you seen the grass? Think about what you're doing to the grass. Maybe you want to hurt me but I don't know how you can justify treating the poor grass this way. Even at the worst of times, we always had the beautiful greenery. And now look. Look at it. It's dying. I'm willing to swallow my pride and ask you to come back, so if any more grass dies, that's on you.
We've been stung. Literally. So many of us have been badly sunburned. There's every chance that this brief spell of sunshine is going to have serious health implications for a lot of us down the line. You know what won't put you in the hospital? Rain. I guess that never occurred to me before.
So let's cut to the chase. I miss you. I miss the way you feel on my skin and in my hair. I miss the way you used to fill up my taps. I miss watching people stuck out in you when I'm safe inside. That was teamwork!
I can't sleep without you. It's just way too hot.
You have your flaws too. You're unpredictable. You're temperamental. You make it virtually impossible to make any kind of outdoor plans at all. But hey, baby, that's what pubs are for. You were made for us, and we were made for you ;)
And I know you're thinking about us. Sometimes there'll be a grey cloud in the sky. You've been drizzling over Cork for an hour so over the last couple of days. You know how special things could be again. A perfect give and take — precipitation, evaporation, condensation — both of us working in harmony.
Please, I'm down on my knees. The only thing I need to turn this into my Shawshank Redemption... is you.
Think about what I've said. Think about the good times. We've been through so much together. Long may it rain.