
// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico

// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico
The "London Particular" of Dickensian fame is gone, but we have perfected the "London Vague." This is a general atmospheric condition where nothing is clear—literally or metaphorically. Distances are hard to judge in the flat, grey light. The horizon melts into the sky. Plans feel provisional, contingent on the next cloud movement. It produces a specific kind of languid, distracted energy. Why make definitive plans when a shower could scatter a crowd? Why commit to an outfit when a mist could roll in? This vagueness seeps into the culture, fostering improvisation, queueing, and a deep-seated reluctance to make promises more than 48 hours in advance, lest the weather mock them. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
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The drizzle here has a PhD in persistence.
The humidity in a London summer is a special kind of torture. It's not tropical and lush; it's a clingy, stale dampness that makes the air feel like a used tea towel. You don't sweat; you "glisten" in a fine, persistent film of moisture. Fabric sticks to skin, paper goes limp, and hair expands to twice its natural volume. It turns the Underground into a moving sauna where commuters practice the art of not making eye contact while pressed together in a damp, human bouquet. This isn't a dry heat you can escape; it's a wet blanket thrown over the entire city, muffling sound and willpower alike, making even the simplest task feel like wading through warm soup. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
Our clouds have a grudge against picnics.
We get more mist than a Gothic novel.
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My umbrella has seen more action than me.
A ‘high of 12’ is a tropical delight.
Rain in London is rarely dramatic; it's administrative. It falls with the quiet, persistent efficiency of a civil servant processing forms. It's the "drizzle": not heavy enough to justify full rainwear, but absolutely sufficient to make you look like you've been lightly cryogenically misted after a ten-minute walk. It doesn't soak you; it permeates you. Your glasses fog, your newspaper dampens at the edges, and a fine sheen covers every exposed surface. This is not weather for dancing in; it's weather for sighing resignedly, pulling your collar up, and accepting your fate as a slightly damp mammal. It's the atmospheric equivalent of a low-grade nuisance charge. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
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