I don’t like the rain. I moved 6000 miles to get away from the rain. It really upsets me. In fact, it’s not just rain that I don’t like, it’s being wet.

On the other hand, I do like sunshine. Vive la sunshine! Also on the “like” list are heavy drinking, sand and vacations.

When I was in college (or “at university,” as we say back in the home country), my friends and I pondered the spectacle of Spring Break from afar.

It was an alien concept, a cultural phenomenon as mysterious as the shrunken heads of the Amazon basin or the popularity of American Idol.

Needless to say, it was with heady anticipation that I awaited the chance to explore this iconic wonder of an American college experience first hand and report back to the folks back in England.

Unfortunately, I’m well past the age at which I could participate in the full MTV experience and not collapse from exhaustion. Plus, I feel uncomfortable around children (which, on reflection, explains the perpetual queasiness I feel around campus).

On the other hand, even without the infamous “younger females who are no longer tame,” Spring Break seemed like a good idea. A few days somewhere bright and sunny appeared to be a perfect idea and a chance to take a breather before the horror of Spring quarter. So I went to Hawaii.

Now, while I’m not optimistic enough to expect to enjoy myself ever again, I had hoped that four days in the islands would at least alleviate the misery a little. Hah.

Rumour had it that Hawaii was a tropical paradise. An island of sunshine, of splendour. An escape from the heady pace of modern life, blah, blah, blah.

As far as I know, the above picture of Hawaii may be correct. However, it wasn’t quite like that while we were there. Instead, it was raining. A lot.

When I say “a lot,” I really do mean “a lot.” The streets of Waikiki turned into gushing rivers at night. My waterproof hiking boots still haven’t dried out. And, as I mentioned, I hate being wet.

Turning up to a nightclub dripping is good for a one liner; however, it’s not so great for a wild night out. The hippest clubs we found were both in shopping malls. I suspect I would have found this mildly depressing even if I was dry and not painfully aware of how ridiculous it feels bopping away at the “18 and over” night.

Beachside drinking is one of the great joys of island holidays in the sun. Rain, though, puts somewhat of, hmmm... a damper on that sort of thing. The delightful seashore-perched hotel bars rapidly lose their appeal when you sit down in a puddle.

In all fairness to Oahu, my friends and I were not just there for the weather. No, we were also planning to get some diving in. That, at least, was mostly fun; though said fun was somewhat tempered by the grumpy wanker who ran the dive operation. But hey, every silver-lining has a cloud.

Speaking of friends, one more mark in favour of EE. The only thing that prevented me from launching myself off the 16th floor terrace of the in-the-process-of-being-remodelled-let’s-wake-everybody-up-at-8-with-the-obnoxious-drilling sucky hotel was the company.

Still, while sparkling company is all very well, it’s a little distressing to spend a grand on four days of relaxation and come back a little ball of tightly wound frustration.

Speaking of which, I need to go and pound a wall now. Have a good weekend.

Have a better Spring Break than me? Feel free to gloat by sending your stories to navins@stanford.edu.