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

// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico
That’s not a fog; it’s atmospheric soup.
The "microclimate" is a beloved London myth. People will swear that their particular square, due to some alignment of buildings, is a "sun trap" or that the wind "always whips around that corner." While there is some truth to urban canyon effects, much of it is folklore. It gives us a sense of localised knowledge and control. "Oh, don't worry, it always burns off by ten in Primrose Hill," someone will say, with the authority of a village elder, as the drizzle continues unabated. These beliefs are harmless superstitions, little weather religions we practice to feel we understand the capricious god of the London sky. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
We don’t get seasons, we get ‘mood swings’.
The climate is ideal for growing mildew.
The sky is practising watercolour techniques.
The wind will politely steal your hat.
Global warming, in London, seems to manifest not as desertification, but as "More of the Same, But Slightly More Intense." Winters are milder but wetter. Summers are prone to sudden, violent downpours that flood Underground stations, rather than lasting heat. The "extreme weather events" we're promised are not tornadoes, but "Supercell Drizzle" or "Megagusts." It's as if the climate crisis has looked at our weather and said, "I can work with this template," and just turned all the dials up by 10. Our apocalyptic future looks less like Mad Max and more like a very, very damp Tuesday that never ends, with occasional, frighteningly warm February days that confuse the daffodils. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
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A ‘storm cloud’ is just a darker grey.
The ‘chance of precipitation’ is a scientific certainty.
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