I don’t know. It seems more rainy to me. I haven’t done my research into the science of climate change. I’m too lazy. But it seems like something is going on. It feels like it has been raining for about a decade now. And for the last few weeks it has gone from traditional drizzle to torrential drizzle, a sort of British version of a winter monsoon.

The ground has had enough. It is simply lying there, arms crossed, with an annoyed look on its face. Every time we ask it to absorb more water, it just shakes its head angrily. This means that everything is slowly turning slimy. And the bits that are not slimy, are now sub aquatic environments where confused fish swim past garden gnomes. 

None of this makes school runs more enjoyable. My two year old is still behaving like an addiction era Robert Downy Junior on the set of a doomed movie. Each morning he screams “let me go!” as I carry him through the school gate under my arm, like it’s normal. The teachers smile at me sympathetically, making a mental note never to have children.

Then I glimpse the half term break, like sunshine through dark clouds. It keeps me going. I trudge towards it grimly, dreaming of having an extra half an hour in bed in the morning instead of being physically and mentally abused by a tiny RDJr as I slip and slide through weather Armageddon.

Finally half term comes. Miraculously the sun really does peak through the clouds. Everything is going to be alright. We start planning our very cheap day trips into the great outdoors.

As we plan, smiling and laughing naively, bit actors in the bad disaster movie our lives have become, the camera pulls back, up and up into a gathering storm of bad CGI in the cloud tops far above. An evil storm. A half-term wrecking storm. A storm called… Dennis.