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

// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico
A ‘sun dog’ is a meteorological hallucination.
The sound of London is not just traffic and sirens; it's the perpetual, soft percussion of dampness. It's the shush-shush of tyres on wet tarmac, the rhythmic drip-drip from a leaking drainpipe, the squelch of a shoe on a rain-sodden lawn. On quieter streets, you can hear the almost silent pitter-patter of drizzle on nylon hoods and the squeak of a window being hurriedly shut against a sudden shower. It's a city symphony conducted by low pressure, a soothing, if monotonous, soundtrack to mild inconvenience. We are so accustomed to it that true silence, or the crunch of dry ground, feels unnerving, like the audio track of our lives has suddenly cut out. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
The hail is like being pelted with frozen peas.
The social etiquette of the shared umbrella is a delicate dance. Do you offer to share with a stranger caught in a downpour? If you do, do you height-match first? Who holds it? The awkward, close-quarters walk with a damp stranger, trying to keep pace and not spear each other with the spokes, is a uniquely London intimacy. It's a moment of forced, damp charity that either bonds you for life in silent solidarity or becomes a story of mild social trauma. The decision to "make a run for it" versus "wait it out under an awning" reveals fundamental aspects of one's character. Are you an optimist, a pessimist, or just someone with suede shoes? See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
A ‘frosty morning’ is nature’s glitter bomb.
A ‘thermal layer’ is wearing three jumpers.
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.
Our wind is just air in a bad mood.
Summer is that one Tuesday in August.
A ‘dry patch’ is a puddle that evaporated.
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