La Pluie

England may have the reputation as a grey, rainy land, but Paris is an equally damp and godforsaken place this time of year.

Snow may be a rarity here, but winter is certainly the rainy season.

For the past week, it has rained nearly every day. And not a fleeting downpour or some friendly scattered showers, but a consistent, lasting drizzle that soaks through your clothes, your shoes until you are damp to the core and bitterly cold. It may be 40 degrees Fahrenheit, but when considering the wetness factor, it might as well be freezing.

It’s miserable.

And in the few, fleeting moments free from rain, either the ground is thoroughly mouillé [wet] from the most recent shower, the sky is a dark and menacing grey, threatening a new downpour, or, most likely, the both.

So don’t even think about a pleasant sunny day until spring.

No wonder the French are of such bad humor all the time. Endless months of rain are enough to make anyone a sourpuss.

Full disclosure: today, of all days, it actually was not raining.

Also, you should see Charade immediately, preferably in an intimate Latin Quarter cinéma, but your living room will do.