Two days ago Perth had a storm. Not the mere thunderstorm the meteorological bureau had predicted, but a severe hailstorm that made some parts of the city look like a war zone. Smashed windows and dented cars – the bonnet of mine looks like a teenager’s face – became so common as to merit only a shrug and a nod from one’s listener.

And so ended Perth’s 100 days without (any significant) rain. The dam burst, streets became small rivers, trees, abandoning all shame, dropped their leaves where they willed. And now it’s as fine and mild a day as ever autumn showed.

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