Four seasons in one day.

In Melbourne, there are three main topics of discussion; football, other sports, and the weather. Possibly the reason these three subjects hold such fascination for the populace is their extreme unpredictability. Soothsayers, druids and auspexes who can foretell with any degree of accuracy what may come to pass, are held in the highest regard, and many a glass of beer has been sacrificed and the foamy dregs interpreted in the pursuit of such esteem. But of all the denizens which inhabit this spiritual realm, there are none braver than he who dares predict the weather.

As I mentioned in my post ysterday, we were hot - bloody hot - and the weather prophets were auguring more hot for today. When my partner, S, and I staggered out of bed this morning after an almost sleepless night of tossing and turning and sweating, we were quite ready to take their word for it. The house had retained a lot of the warmth from the previous day, and opening up the doors and windows, we discovered the outdoors was only marginally cooler. Exhausted and listless, we began psyching ourselves up to the prospect of facing another unbearable day. The only glimmer of hope on the horizon was a late cool change which had also been prophesied.

An hour or so later, we were allowing ourselves a cautious optimism. The sky had become slightly overcast, and a cooling breeze had sprung up. Of course, any native Melbournian will tell you that this doesn't mean anything; it could all about face in a split second. Later on, though, it had gotten more overcast, and we were ready to admit the air temperature had indeed dropped, whilst the breeze had strengthened. Sitting on the back steps, drinking tea, we agreed that the soothsayers had gotten it wrong yet again. There was no way it was going to get as hot as they had predicted. In fact, it was so pleasant, I suggested to S we go to the beach and wade in the water whilst savouring the breeze. It would also be a good excuse for me to play with my new digital camera which I got for last Christmas, this Christmas. S thought that was a good idea.

After dropping E (daughter) of at her auntie's place, we headed off to the beach. The weather had deteriorated pretty rapidly, and the sky was starting to look somewhat venomous, but we figured what the hell. We were out of the oven disguised as a house, and there was wonderfully cool air coming in the car windows. The closer we got to the beach, however, the darker it got. By the time we reached our destination, the rain was pelting down, and the breeze had matured into a solid wind.

This wasn't a problem as far as we were concerned. S and I both love walking along stormy windswept beaches. Because the weather has chased most people away, you get a sense of space that's practically impossible to find in a big city. It's then that you could imagine that you're the only people in the world at that very moment, and it was easy to imagine that today. Walking down on to the beach in front of the surf club, we were met by a blast straight of the Antarctic continent. It was freezing. The wind was giving the seagulls grief. The waves were thuimping onto the sand. And, apart from four (fool)hardy souls in the water, it was absolutley deserted. These pictures that I took give you some idea of the conditions. Pity I can't transmit the smells and the noise.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, we were sweltering. Coming back from the beach in the car, we had to have the heater on low.

But hey! That's Melbourne weather.

Four seasons in one day.