The weather of London (England)

Let me clear. [For a change. ed.] The London mentioned here is the big one -- the capital of the United Kingdom. There is a smaller one in Ontario. And there is a New London in Connecticut. I have visited all three.

I have also visited Orillia, Ontario, where I called at the home of the famous Canadian humourist, Stephen Leacock. Unfortunately, he was not at home, having expired several years previously. I never went back.

However, his demise did not prevent me from reading and rereading some of Leacock's tremendously funny books and essays. I revisited one today, and find it has aged well. In other words, it's still funny, 88 years after it was first published.

The book in question is My Discovery of England. This work is not as well-known as, say, Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, but has great appeal for lovers of travel writing, of which I am one. Here's an excerpt, an observation about London's weather.

No description of London would be complete without a reference, however brief, to the singular salubrity and charm of the London climate. This is seen at its best during the autumn and winter months. The climate of London and indeed of England generally is due to the influence of the Gulf Stream.

The way it works is thus: the Gulf Stream, as it nears the shores of the British Isles and feels the propinquity of Ireland, rises into the air, turns into soup, and comes down on London. At times the soup is thin and is in fact little more than a mist; at other times it has the consistency of a thick Potage St. Germain. London people are a little sensitive on the point and flatter their atmosphere by calling it a fog; but it is not; it is soup.

The notion that no sunlight ever gets through and that in the London winter people never see the sun is of course a ridiculous error, circulated no doubt by the jealousy of foreign nations. I have myself seen the sun plainly visible in London, without the aid of glasses, on a November day in broad daylight; and again one night about four o'clock in the afternoon I saw the sun distinctly appear through the clouds.

Those who think that funny travel stories about Britain were invented by Bill Bryson should check out My Discovery of England. I defy you to read it without at least snickering, and more likely laughing out loud.

Footnote: I do like and admire Bill Bryson. His new book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life, appeared in the bookstores this month.