Four Seasons in One Day: An Unnecessary Essay on Melbourne Weather

"Melbourne weather," they say. As if that explains everything.

It doesn't. But we say it anyway. We say it when we leave the house in a t-shirt and it's hailing by 3pm. We say it when we pack an umbrella and sunscreen for a trip to the supermarket. We say it like it's a personality trait. It might be. I've met people who introduce themselves with their layering philosophy. No joke.

The Morning

You wake up. It's overcast. Classic. You check the forecast. 22 degrees. You dress for 22 degrees. You leave the house. It's 14. The wind is doing something aggressive to your hair. You look like you've been electrocuted. You have not been electrocuted. This is just Tuesday.

My nan used to say you could tell the weather by her knees. She had arthritis. She was rarely wrong. I don't have that. I have the Bureau of Meteorology app. It lies to me. Regularly.

The Layers Situation

Every Melburnian develops a layering philosophy by their second winter. Mine is:

Base layer — Something you can wear indoors without dying. Cardigan territory. Maybe a light jumper. You'll regret it by 11am. You'll need it again by 4pm. The cycle continues.
Middle layer — The cardigan/jacket you'll take off at 11am and carry for the rest of the day. It will live in your bag. It will weigh you down. You will forget you have it. You will need it at 5pm. You will remember. Too late.
Outer layer — The coat you'll need at 5pm when the temperature drops like someone flipped a switch. Who flipped the switch. Why did they flip the switch. It was fine an hour ago.

You will carry the middle layer. You will never use it at the right time. This is the way. I've made peace with it. Sort of.

A Brief Rant About "Four Seasons in One Day"

The phrase is overused. Crowded House wrote a song about it. Tourists say it. Locals say it. It's lost all meaning. And yet. And yet. Last Thursday I left the house in sunshine, got rained on at lunch, and finished the day in humidity that could only be described as Sydney. So. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe we're all tired. The weather doesn't care. The weather has never cared.

The Real Question

Why do we stay?

We stay because the coffee is good. We stay because the trams—when they run—take us places. We stay because somewhere in the chaos of carrying a jacket we don't need, we found a city that doesn't pretend to have its shit together. And neither do we.

My nan stayed because she was born here. She didn't have a choice. She made the best of it. She always had an umbrella in her handbag. Always. She was prepared. I am not prepared. I am never prepared. I am learning. Slowly.

If you related to this essay, you might also relate to: leaving your umbrella at home on the one day it rains. We've all been there. We'll all be there again. The weather is patient. The weather will wait.