
// 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 ‘high pressure system’ is a foreign invader.
A suntan here is just a faint blush.
A ‘downpour’ is the sky finally making a decision.
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.
Carrying an umbrella is our national handshake.
The barometric pressure is perpetually ‘low and sad’.
Our thunderstorms are just sky-rumblings.
The Thames Barrier is our silent, heroic guardian against the apocalypse, but its day-to-day role is managing the sky's plumbing. When a "spring tide" coincides with a "low pressure system over the North Sea," the Barrier closes, not with a dramatic clang, but with the bureaucratic efficiency of a flood defence that does this several times a year. It's a reminder that London is fundamentally a marsh, kept dry by Victorian engineering and constant vigilance. We live below sea level, protected by a giant metal gate. The weather isn't just an inconvenience; it's a potential existential threat that we've boxed in with concrete and ingenuity, which is a very London solution. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
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.
The drizzle is relentless, yet somehow polite.
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