David Hockney gave so many interviews when his exhibition opened at the Royal Academy that I forget where it was I heard or read his statement that landscapes such as the Yorkshire Wolds are full of tiny valleys which most people may not even notice & which are far too small to show up on standard walkers maps or even photographs. You need to learn to look closely to see their intricate fractal patterns.
I am both lucky & unlucky enough to have learned this sense of perspective.
The lucky lesson was taught by the elderly man who alerted me to take an interest in the fascinating subject of drainage – to watch how water finds its course across the lie of the land & to appreciate the unappreciated skill of those who have worked to control it.
The unlucky teachers have been what might by now be a hundred ruined umbrellas.
Valleys – even tiny ones - also channel wind. You can, even on a day which might seem merely breezy, be taken by surprise by a gust which suddenly catches you from the side with force enough to kick the ribs of your umbrella upside down.
The lane up the hill to the bus stop has five such traps.
Actually only three of them are tiny valleys. But there will also be a stiff breeze blowing upstream across the bridge & not the least of the horrors of the (no longer so new) estate at the top of the hill is that the road is so aligned with houses on either side as to provide a perfect wind funnel to buffet anyone trying to negotiate the way across on foot.
Experience has taught me how to angle an umbrella to avoid damage, if the breeze light enough, to make it worthwhile taking a chance, putting up your umbrella so as to keep reasonably dry. But there are many days on which there is no way your umbrella can be saved, so there is no point even trying.
So there’s another reason why country folk may have to wear heavier, more waterproof hooded jackets on days when townsfolk may rely on much lighter clothing.
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