Shorts, with a chance of Woolly Hat.

The weather here is starting to, amusingly, remind me of British stuff I’m used to. Kind of. It helps that I’ve adapted to it all, to a certain extent; the heat doesn’t feel as hot now. Makes it feel more familiar.

It’s cold in the morning, for a given value of cold. You get up and potter around going ‘Argh where are my woolly socks!’ before you realise you don’t have woolly socks, you moron, this is Thailand. So instead you forgo thoughts of woollen socks and get ready, maybe having a hot shower; a cold shower is out of the question, if you can help it. You put on a pair of long trousers, consider them, step outside briefly and decide that yes, it’s defiantly too cold for anything shorter, thank you. On goes a top or two, and a cardie or that one jumper you (Your mother) had the foresight to pack (‘Why will I need a jumper? It will be way too hot.’ ‘Always be prepared.’ ‘Fine, fine.’) You have breakfast, and a cup of tea which you warm your hands around pathetically and then suddenly its 7.00 and you’ve got to hop in the van, which is covered in condensation. You’re pretty sure that’s a sign it’s gotten colder. Or that it rained over night. Either way.

The bus goes around picking up all the kids, and at least two other teachers. Everyone is wearing a few layers, cardigans, jackets, with some of the children comically wrapped up in scarves or woolly hats. You keep looking at the ground for frost, or puffing your breath out, just to test how cold it really is. There isn’t any, though you’ve been told a lot of the mountain tribes see frost and ice around their villages; you’re tempted to see if a trip up there is possible nearer Christmas, just for a glimpse of it. It’s barely November, you think, hardly even really cold season yet. I wonder if I’ll want a bobble hat by the end of January?

Then you arrive at school, and everyone piles out. You subtly try some vigorous walking or stamping to warm your feet up. Why did you put on flip flops this morning? You do own other shoes. Somewhere. In your bag. At the bottom. Gah, as if they would have been much better.

At least you’re not sweating. Silver lining.

During morning assembly you talk to one of the Thai teachers about the cold, who complains fervently. “I no like cold!” she says, a deliberate mockery of the baby English a lot of westerners will use. The teachers all use it, a game they have with each other, a large group mockery of themselves and everyone else. She shows you her arm, pulls the sleeve up a bit. Goosebumps. She has goosebumps. Really? Woah. Suddenly the scarves and hats make sense.

It was perhaps 17˚ when you woke up, at the lowest. Come midmorning it’s about 23˚. Come 1.00 and it’s rocketed up to 29˚. You are suddenly desperately glad you wore flip flops this morning. Your cardigans gone, your sleeves are pulled up and you’re wrestling with your long trousers to see how far up you can get the legs, wishing you’d worn a shorter pair or a skirt. Why did you ever think it was cold? 5˚, 10˚ is cold! 17˚ is warm! Where are your sunglasses? Where’s the shade?

Oh no. It’s raining.

At least it will cool it down.

Doesn’t do that as much as it did a few months ago, when it was wet season. Then it was everyday, at least once; for only ten minutes most the time, sometimes light, sometimes torrential. And you could kind of predict when it would happen; probably around 4, or 5, or 7. But now it’s cold season, which is cold and not rainy, obviously. So you’ve given up carrying your umbrella and your poncho, when you really should have known better. Never trust the weather to behave as you expect.

And that is what reminds me of Britain. Really, really inconsistent and fluctuating weather.

I might buy some woolly socks.

Emma.