The weather. Really, anyone outside Brisbane must think we live in an idyllic sub-tropical paradise, featuring sunshine and palm trees and tall cool drinks. In point of fact, the weather is a big contributor to my decision to Get The Hell Out Of Here.
Don’t get me wrong – April and October are glorious. Both are crisply cool at the right times of the day, and pleasantly warm at the others, and both have skies so clear that we can read the writing on the plaques on the moon. April in Brisbane invigorates, and October excites. I find the rest of the year alternately poisonous and irritating.
The long crawl into and through Summer is characterised by high temperatures and high humidity, and the violent storms bring no relief, only more water to saturate the air. It’s too hot not to be in the shade, and the still damp air in the shade requires scuba gear to breathe. Your skin feels sticky all the time, and your clothes cling to you like plastic wrap.
Winter is almost worse, and last weekend was a good example. We were camped out for a living history event, a most pleasant and fun weekend hosted by Condottieri. The nights were cool – not cold, it never gets that cold in Brisbane, only down to the point of needing a blanket or too, and a warm coat to go to the nearest tree when required – and the mornings were crisp. And the middle of the day was damned hot in the sun, too hot to really be wearing heavy 15th century clothes, let alone flailing around with swords and halberds. And on Sunday it rained. Now rain is ok. It was cool rain, and heavier than I enjoyed knowing that the tent was not going to be dry when I took it down, but not unpleasant. Until it stopped, and the day just turned sullen and warm and sodden and damp.
One or the other is pleasant. Hot and dry. Cold and dry. Even cold and damp, or cold and wet, can be borne and worked around. But Hot and Wet is awful, debilitating, draining, and inescapable.
So no, I won’t miss Brisbane weather. Except maybe a little bit in April and October.
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