Eva Bradley: Drenched spirits making us SAD

Eva Bradley Photo/File

Hands up if you're feeling SAD? Not the uncapitalised, generic version of sad, but the bold, 50-point typeface, Armageddon-style Seasonal Affective Disorder 'SAD'.

For what seems like weeks, but is probably only days, it has been raining. And raining. And raining.

There have been no short spells to nip out and get the washing half dry. No gaps between banked-up gunmetal grey clouds to rush to the nearest sidewalk cafe and grab a coffee and some sunshine before the next downpour.

The puddles are too big to play in and the rain too wet to make a quick dash to the car without getting out the umbrella AND the raincoat.

Worse still, the 10-day forecast just about everywhere is offering little respite apart from one stingy little sun symbol early next week and even then, mostly covered by a cloud. It's enough to make you just give up and stay in bed. Or get up and punch someone in the face.

If you can relate to either of those feelings, you're not alone. Research proves our moods are directly pegged to the weather and rain doesn't just make us sad, it makes us mad. The more sunshine you are used to, the more aggressive you're likely to be when the weather turns nasty and stays that way.

Perhaps it is because we've had a particularly mild winter or because spring is officially here that I am feeling especially ripped off by what seems an unsporting show by Mother Nature.

Right now I should be skipping through daffodils, canoodling with spring lambs and sashaying down the high street in new-season floral-print cotton skirts.

Instead, I'm dodging downpours and still sporting my depressing winter uniform of black merino polo neck, timberland boots and heavy black puffer jacket. What's not to be angry about?

I also discovered for the first time this week what mothers mean when they whine about being stuck indoors with kids. In the past, such conversations have always been a little bit like white noise " a background hum of complaint that just didn't register.

When you've watched Clifford the Big Red Dog for two hours, you've turned the wooden walking cart around at the end of the hall for the 50th time and watched a 1-year-old empty every unsecured drawer in the house, you have a new appreciation for sunshine. Or overcast skies. Hell, I'd be grateful for drizzle.

Today my charge is offloaded to Granny Daycare (a whole new set of drawers to distract), but I'm not sure I'm any better off. My brief for a women's magazine shoot this afternoon contains the words "light", "airy" and "park". I've been known to execute some fabulous transformations with my camera, a good makeup artist and photoshop, but even I have limits.

The result of all this is that after torrential rain for days, I'm starting to feel as dark on the inside as the world is looking on the outside.

The only moments of respite are when I climb into bed with the electric blanket on and enjoy the heavy drumbeat of rain bouncing off the tin roof of my house. Unfortunately, the soundtrack is accompanied by the hacking cough of the baby who has strategically taken advantage of a spring cold to mount a sustained campaign to sleep in our bed instead of his own.

While I seem to find myself singing the old-fashioned nursery song You Are My Sunshine more often than is cool these days, I'm not really sure I believe it.