It's All Relative Meteorologically

It's All Relative Meteorologically

We arrived at Riyadh airport, stepping from an air conditioned plane into an air conditioned terminal, then out to my colleague's car through the hot dry sauna of a Saudi spring day. As we drove into town I noticed some Sudanese road workers digging up a central reservation. Blinking in the sun that was blazing through my side window I noticed that they were all wearing coats and tank tops - they were cold! It was in the high 80s and they were cold! I queried this with my colleague who dismissed my incredulity with a wave of his hand. He told me to wait until summer when it would reach at least 110 and our friendly neighbourhood road workers would be wearing t-shirts and shorts.

Sure enough, when I returned in the summer they had indeed discarded their heavy winter clothes in favour of more comfortable attire - it was after all over 120 degrees. In England that year the weather was perfect. Blue skies, bright sunshine, and temperatures guaranteed to bring a smile to every village cricket team in the country. But when I got off the plane, having spent three weeks in the Middle East, I shivered every step of the way from immigration to taxi even though it was over 70 in the shade; I had become one with the Sudanese.

A similar principle works at the other end of the spectrum. In England our railways are notorious for dying every time the temperature drops below freezing. Winter takes them by surprise regardless of any school lessons they might have had as children - you know the ones that say spring is rainy, summer is warm, autumn is chilly and winter is 'cold'. Trains are cancelled or delayed because of iced intakes or leaves on the line which mush up and reduce traction to zero.

When that happens you can go to any station during the morning rush hour and witness the pitiful sight of suited business types tapping their feet in frustration, itching to get stuck into a crossword or join the bridge four that always meets in the front left hand side of the third carriage from the front of the 7:51 to Paddington. Announcements apologising for any inconvenience caused to customers - note, we are no longer passengers - by the 6:27 being delayed until 8:35 or thereabouts merely add to commuter stress levels.

Switching to road transport will not get you anywhere either. My wife's journey home from school usually takes twenty five minutes. Her drive is picturesque, country lanes that twist and turn, up hill and down dale through scenery that would be the pride of any picture postcard. In the summer delightful, but in the winter lethal. One snowy evening in January, having crept home at a nervous snail's pace, white haired and shaking after an hour and a half of trying to keep the rear wheels where they belong, she decided to use the main road the next morning...that journey took her three hours. There was no reason for the long traffic queues, no accidents or snowdrifts. Just hundreds of nervous English drivers with short memories who, like the railways, forgot that winter is a recurring annual event.

However, I think the accolade for the most disruption for the least cause must go to the Carolinas. One winter's evening, not long after I had arrived, the local weather forecaster pronounced dire warnings of snow the following day. So as all good Europeans do I put my boots in the trunk of my car - yes I had packed them 'just in case' - and got my winter hat out of my bag before I went to bed. Next morning I looked out of the window and to my surprise saw nothing more than a sprinkling of powder which I could have cleared off the car with one good sneeze.

The second surprise of the day was the sight of empty freeways where there should have been miles of tail lights. It was like a scene from a science fiction film, you know the kind where the aliens slurp up all the local inhabitants leaving the streets derelict and deserted. So keeping an eye out for flying saucers I drove along the almost empty highways and arrived at my customer's office in record time. Only a dozen or so people had made it in, two from Ohio, a couple of fellow Europeans and some programmers from India.

The local Carolinians did not begin to arrive until after 10:30am, each with a tale of daring do, describing in great detail how they had braved the arctic conditions to come into work that morning. I won't quote what the Ohians said in response - this is a family newspaper after all - but it was along the lines of 'you don't know what winter is until you have dug yourself out of six feet of snow just to go to the grocery store'.

Meanwhile, back here in England the forecast is for heavy rain; ah well, at least the trains will run on time.



	We arrived at Riyadh airport, stepping from an air conditioned plane into an air conditioned terminal, then out to my colleague's car through the hot dry sauna of a Saudi spring day. As we drove into town I noticed some Sudanese road workers digging up a central reservation. Blinking in the sun that was blazing through my side window I noticed that they were all wearing coats and tank tops - they were cold! It was in the high 80s and they were cold! I queried this with my colleague who dismissed my incredulity with a wave of his hand. He told me to wait until summer when it would reach at least 110 and our friendly neighbourhood road workers would be wearing t-shirts and shorts. Sure enough, when I returned in the summer they had indeed discarded their heavy winter clothes in favour of more comfortable attire - it was after all over 120 degrees. In England that year the weather was perfect. Blue skies, bright sunshine, and temperatures guaranteed to bring a smile to every village cricket team in the country. But when I got off the plane, having spent three weeks in the Middle East, I shivered every step of the way from immigration to taxi even though it was over 70 in the shade; I had become one with the Sudanese. A similar principle works at the other end of the spectrum. In England our railways are notorious for dying every time the temperature drops below freezing. Winter takes them by surprise regardless of any school lessons they might have had as children - you know the ones that say spring is rainy, summer is warm, autumn is chilly and winter is 'cold'. Trains are cancelled or delayed because of iced intakes or leaves on the line which mush up and reduce traction to zero. When that happens you can go to any station during the morning rush hour and witness the pitiful sight of suited business types tapping their feet in frustration, itching to get stuck into a crossword or join the bridge four that always meets in the front left hand side of the third carriage from the front of the 7:51 to Paddington. Announcements apologising for any inconvenience caused to customers - note, we are no longer passengers - by the 6:27 being delayed until 8:35 or thereabouts merely add to commuter stress levels. Switching to road transport will not get you anywhere either. My wife's journey home from school usually takes twenty five minutes. Her drive is picturesque, country lanes that twist and turn, up hill and down dale through scenery that would be the pride of any picture postcard. In the summer delightful, but in the winter lethal. One snowy evening in January, having crept home at a nervous snail's pace, white haired and shaking after an hour and a half of trying to keep the rear wheels where they belong, she decided to use the main road the next morning...that journey took her three hours. There was no reason for the long traffic queues, no accidents or snowdrifts. Just hundreds of nervous English drivers with short memories who, like the railways, forgot that winter is a recurring annual event. However, I think the accolade for the most disruption for the least cause must go to the Carolinas. One winter's evening, not long after I had arrived, the local weather forecaster pronounced dire warnings of snow the following day. So as all good Europeans do I put my boots in the trunk of my car - yes I had packed them 'just in case' - and got my winter hat out of my bag before I went to bed. Next morning I looked out of the window and to my surprise saw nothing more than a sprinkling of powder which I could have cleared off the car with one good sneeze. The second surprise of the day was the sight of empty freeways where there should have been miles of tail lights. It was like a scene from a science fiction film, you know the kind where the aliens slurp up all the local inhabitants leaving the streets derelict and deserted. So keeping an eye out for flying saucers I drove along the almost empty highways and arrived at my customer's office in record time. Only a dozen or so people had made it in, two from Ohio, a couple of fellow Europeans and some programmers from India. The local Carolinians did not begin to arrive until after 10:30am, each with a tale of daring do, describing in great detail how they had braved the arctic conditions to come into work that morning. I won't quote what the Ohians said in response - this is a family newspaper after all - but it was along the lines of 'you don't know what winter is until you have dug yourself out of six feet of snow just to go to the grocery store'. Meanwhile, back here in England the forecast is for heavy rain; ah well, at least the trains will run on time.