June Gloom and the jacarandas

Every year somebody arrives here in early summer expecting the postcard version of Southern California, and every year they wake up to a flat white sky and a slight chill. Locals have a name for it. In May it is May Grey, in June it is June Gloom, and if it lingers we just start inventing new ones.

The cause is the ocean. Cool water offshore and warmer air above it produce a low layer of cloud that rolls in overnight, settles over the coast and the basin, and then slowly burns off as the day warms. Near the beach it can hang around until well into the afternoon. A few miles inland it is often gone by lunchtime, and you can drive out of the grey into bright sunshine in the space of a couple of exits.

Learning to like it

For my first couple of years I found it a bit dispiriting. Now I quite like it. The mornings are soft and quiet, perfect for a long walk without sunscreen stinging your eyes. Photographs taken under the grey look gentle and even. And there is a certain satisfaction in watching the sky open up around eleven, as if someone has pulled back a curtain.

The one rule I've learned: always carry a layer. It is entirely normal to need a jumper at nine in the morning and to be in a T-shirt by two.

The purple season

The other sign that summer is coming has nothing to do with the sky. Around late spring the jacaranda trees bloom, and for a few weeks whole streets turn a startling shade of lavender. The trees aren't native, but they have been planted here for so long that they feel like part of the place.

Under grey skies the colour is almost electric. The flowers fall constantly, so pavements, parked cars and garden walls end up dusted in purple. Some people complain about the stickiness on their windscreens. I would happily wash my car every day if it meant walking through that colour.

For a few weeks a year, the most beautiful thing in the city is the ground.

Then summer proper

By July the gloom usually gives up and the long, dry, golden stretch begins. The hills turn tan, the evenings stay warm and the city settles into its familiar rhythm. I'm always a little sorry to see the grey go. It is the closest thing we get to a mood, and it makes the sunshine that follows feel earned.