I admire British people that remain in the UK. I really do. Apart from generally being very polite in public, well-spoken and generally un-offensive, they also kindly put up with the UK weather system in a very dignified way. And probably have been doing so their whole life. I gotta give it to them, they handle the weather very gracefully. Not like me!
In general the weather up here in North Yorkshire miffs me off. I get angry at it. I blame the cloudy weather for my bad moods. I complain about it to Mr. Chill, my English man on a regular basis (I know– poor man!). I take holidays to Spain that I shouldn’t. I rant about the grey clouds in my psychotherapy sessions. I curse my seasonal chilblains. This hate I have is not going to be solved with a sunlamp, chillblain cream, or by admitting I have SAD year round. Nah, its just I hate the weather here in Yorkshire. Period. The weather and I are mortal enemies. Let’s put it this way. If you were to go back in time ‘Back to the Future style’ and put us both in the Roman Collosseum to duke it out, I would put up a huge fight and aim to kill. But the UK weather would still win.
I grew up in the middle of the desert so I need the sunshine like a druggie needs cocaine. I crave it. I bloom in the heat. Its just my Puerto Rican blood that the sun needs to run through my vains. Its just another thing about moving to the UK, you just gotta accept the weather (which I am trying, I am trying!). But that doesn’t mean I will EVER love it. Not a chance little darlin, not a chance!