Rain

Bristol, as anyone who's ever spent more two minutes in the city will know, has a bit of a problem with rain.

For five months of the year between May and September, the city is one gorgeous, sunny parade, with open stretches of grass, plentiful beer gardens and barbecues in every home. Or at least something relatively near that description anyway.

But something rather alarming tends to happen once you move outside of that corridor - it rains. And I mean it really rains. Big rain, fat rain, horizontal rain and especially that really annoying drizzly rain that soaks you slowly but surely over a period of fifteen minutes or so.

And so it was this weekend, when, after a brilliant night out celebrating birthdays, engagements and movings-in, I decided to brave the hangover and go round various houses to visit other sufferers of the night before.

Everything was going fine as we made it to house number one. The clouds were a little dark, the air a little damp, but fortune was generally favouring hungover men for the day.

I should have known better.

Leaving house number one was probably what I would pinpoint as the fatal mistake. There was no real reason to leave - it was warm, dry, it had a comfy sofa, a good friend, and best of all a series of hilarious (though surely fake) videos on YouTube of 'ping pong mastery'.

But leave we did, just as the lightest of light drizzle began. Then we began to walk and the hangover gods deserted us – light became heavy, drizzle became full-on rain, and we ploughed straight on, never looking back (ok, so we may have half looked back, but everybody would have, I mean it was really crappy rain!)

And why do this and not turn back? Simple. Because I have an insatiable appetite for making the most of my rare visits to Bristol, and with barely ninety minutes left I still had another house, as well as a walk to the train station to fit in. So on we ploughed to house number two.

Fifteen minutes later, with wet jeans, soggy underwear, and walking alongside a bloke who now more closely resembled a highland cow (at least from the forehead upwards), we arrived at house number two where there was general laughter at our predicament. This laughter was then replaced with general laughter at the predicament of the occupants of the house, who had endured a less than enjoyable morning meeting the vicar who is due to marry them one year this week – suffice to say hangovers and spiritual guidance just don’t mix.

But even with soggy boxers, a painful hangover, a run to the station and (yes, naturally) some more rain on the way, it was absolutely worth it, every second of it.

It does rain a lot, and that might well put some people off visiting or (more likely) staying for good. But I wouldn’t change it for anything or anywhere.