Is the Sun Overrated?

Is the Sun Overrated?

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I awoke today to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on the roof (and also all over my books as I thought it would be a good idea to sleep with the window wide open) and I must admit, I felt slightly relieved. I’m not working until five today and so snuggled back down in bed (after I sorted my books) without feeling any guilt whatsoever. Had it been sunny, I would have had to spring up, put on some shorts, run outside and do something. But no, it’s rain. Rain is kind. Rain does not judge.

I love rain.

I mean, I love the sun too, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that it’s sometimes nothing more than a big, bright, busybody that chastises you and highlights all your flaws. John Donne, three hundred and eighty one years ago, got it down to a tee:

BUSY old fool, unruly sun, / Why dost thou thus, / Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

Now, John Donne’s pissed off with the sun because its rising marks the end of a blissful night of blissful sex with his blissful lover, but I get what he’s feeling – the sun is not wanted; it’s just poking its nose in and annoying everyone. It’s sort of like that awfully chirpy person that rises at dawn, goes running, eats healthily, does many activities, gets good grades, and hardly poisons their body at all (you know who you are) and while they’re lovely, you feel like they’re looking down on you for not rising until the back of twelve, eating an entire box of Jaffa cakes for your breakfast, and watching a whole series in one day. Yes, the sun is a bit like that.

And so today, I welcome the rain. I don’t have to shave my legs (although, if I’m being completely honest, I haven’t been shaving them anyway) and I can return to bed with my boiled eggs and soldiers, GUILT-FREE.

Scotland is definitely the right place for me.

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