Image from Alexander Turnbull Library Collection: Pedestrians walking against strong wind, Stout Street, Wellington [ca. 30 September 1965], ref: EP/1965/3652/14-F
This fucking wind is driving me CRRRRRAZY. I "remember" how awful the Spring Winds are but then when they actually happen, they're so much worse in reality. Mere "remembrance" is not enough to prepare the average person. What makes me especially annoyed is how walking around in them makes me so hot and uncomfortable. Not that the winds are hot in themselves, but rather because one goes out in many many layers in order to keep warm, and the struggle involved in getting from point A to point B is so great that by the time I've arrived I feel revolting: disgusting and sticky.
On the way back from the Boy's flat, I caught a number 3 bus, entirely missed my stop and ended up walking home along Tinakori Road in a woollen duffle coat and with a huge duffle bag filled with clothes. Into a howling northerly gale. By the time I arrived home I felt so much ambient anger towards the climate that I could have kicked a thermal upwind, should I have come across one. I could have shook my fist at a rain cloud. I could have yelled expletives at the sky.
The winds make me crazy too. Indecisive. And snippy. And twitchy. I've heard that the correlation between wind and moodiness is scientific. Proved by real scientists in real white coats in real laboratories. I dare you to prove me wrong.
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