Candlemas is on the 2nd February each year.
“Great weather,” the old man says to me in the café.
I assume he’s being sarcastic – the rain’s lashing down outside. But no, he means it.
“It’s 2nd February, Candlemas,” he says. “If Candlemas brings cloud and rain, winter won’t come again. It’s an old saying.”
I tell him that I don’t believe in old sayings.
Next day, the weather’s even worse. When I visit the café again for my morning espresso, the old man’s there again.
“What happened to your Candlemas theory?” I ask him.
“I told you,” he insists, “this is the start of a typically bad summer.”
I assume he’s being sarcastic – the rain’s lashing down outside. But no, he means it.
“It’s 2nd February, Candlemas,” he says. “If Candlemas brings cloud and rain, winter won’t come again. It’s an old saying.”
I tell him that I don’t believe in old sayings.
Next day, the weather’s even worse. When I visit the café again for my morning espresso, the old man’s there again.
“What happened to your Candlemas theory?” I ask him.
“I told you,” he insists, “this is the start of a typically bad summer.”
