I woke up this morning with the sound of the rain beating against the window; we face west, straight towards the sea and any onshore winds hits our house directly. We’re safe and snug inside, but how miserable for those who have to be out in it.
It was Weston carnival last night, we didn’t go down, and I hope the weather was kind for the few hours the procession was on the streets of the town. The reason our west country carnivals are held at this time of year, unlike other carnivals which are associated with religious observances, is that here the celebration is linked to those events four hundred years ago when there was a plot to blow up parliament on November 5th.
As I listened to the rain I was reminded of Shakespeare’s little ditty, from Twelfth Night, sung by Feste the Jester. There is more to this little song than a comical turn by a clown, and there is a very interesting piece written about it in the Guardian, last year:
Here is the poem, or maybe song… there is some dispute as to whether Shakespeare actually wrote it or used a popular song from the time; however it’s so clever and multi-layered, that I come down on the side of it having been the Bard himself who wrote it:
When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man’s estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, ‘Gainst knaves and thieves men shut the gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken heads, For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that’s all one, our play is done, And we’ll strive to please you every day.