It is a sad sign of our seasonal desperation that many in Vancouver have been rooting for more rain. Local meteorologists discovered that we were only a few days away from setting a record for consecutive days of measurable rainfall. While running through the weather data archives, their software discovered that the previous record stood at 28 days, and that we were close to beating it.

“We are still somewhat short of the record,” one meteorologist was quoted, “but we have our hopes up. All we have to do is hope the weekend is wet and Monday is wet and we’ll make it.”

The media picked this up with great enthusiasm. The evening TV weather forecasters gleefully reported that we were now at day 24, day 25, day 26; they pointed happily at the storm fronts forming endlessly in the north Pacific, queuing patiently offshore for their turn to take a run at the damp and sodden coast.

“Yes,” Vancouverites seemed to be saying resignedly to each other, “bring it on. We’ve endured three and a half weeks of non-stop rain; local architects are hailing a renaissance for the mossery; and rust has been declared our new official colour. But we can handle one more day or two. Day 29 will be our payoff: a new record! and we will have been part of it.”

It — the rainfall record — was the only ray of sunshine to pierce the sodden cloud cover; it was the solitary islet to help us cross a lake-sized puddle; the one dry thread in our pairs of soggy socks; you get the drift.

But it was not meant to be. On Sunday there was a break in the offshore systems; a few embarrassed clouds skirted the horizon, but they were completely continent; they kept their little cloud-knees crossed and left us high and dry.

The record stands. I guess we’ll have to start again…