Oh Joy. The British Weather is Being All British Again
It’s 8am on a Sunday and the central heating has just clicked on. Sorry, I should caveat that with the fact that it’s also the 6th of August. The 6TH OF AUGUST. You know, the peak summer month for us Brits who pin all our UK sunshine hopes on approximately 4 weeks of the year.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It rained so much the day before I’m pretty sure the the builders down the road were actually building an ark rather than refitting the interior doors for our neighbour. And it is Britain after all. There are some things that you can be absolutely certain of. A cup of tea will be the first thing that is offered upon entering someone’s house. A trip to the seaside will always require fish and chips to be eaten (preferably in a paper cone using a wooden chip fork). And summer will inevitably mean 3 days of ludicrous heat followed by what seems like months of rain.
Anyone who denies that climate change is not real is a lunatic. Last year saw us hitting 40 degrees and an entire country went into melt down - literally - roads and pavements pooled into gooey messes. Yet this year, I don’t even think I’ve got my summer clothes out of their winter hibernation. Sure, I took appropriate clothing to Rhodes recently - but on my return, I’ve put them all back in the loft and have retreated to cosy jumpers, bed socks and multiple layers to see me through the summer months. There was even talk of getting the thicker duvet out - AND putting the fire on last night (I’m only half sure that the OH was joking…) How on earth is it this cold, at this point in the year??
Not that I want to return to the temperatures of last year - but something a little warmer so the central heating isn’t triggered would be nice. Us Brits aren’t ready for the type of heat parts of Europe are currently experiencing - our houses are built to retain warmth; the thought of domestic A/C is laughable; and when it does hit anything past 26 degrees, half the country lose their sweet minds and start ambling around the streets in only shorts or bikini tops like we’re some kind of Mediterranean island and everyone is on holiday.
My personal theory is that we’re on a two year British weather cycle now - 2018, 2020 and 2022 were glorious (well, in the case of 2020, weather wise it was glorious - something else may have also been happening globally to make it a little shitter). Long hot springs and summers, with endless days spent in the garden enjoying the expensive summer furniture we purchased on the basis that summer was going to be an actual "thing" here. The intervening years have been a complete wash out (with the garden furniture only being used as an expensive umbrella for the cats). If my predictions are right, next year will be incredible, which bodes well for my desire to holiday in the UK at the moment*, as I certainly don’t want to summer in Europe where apparently it’s all on fire. If the Met Office want to hit me up for my detailed analysis (best shared over a bottle of wine), you know where I am.
Apparently, according to the experts though, it is due to get warmer here soon. But I’ll believe it when I see it - I might be older and more cynical, but the weather reports don’t seem to be anywhere near accurate now. They instead seem to change on an hourly basis (at the same frequency that I change my mind about whether I find Benedict Cumberbatch attractive or not**), making it impossible to know what to wear, meaning I now have to be prepared for every eventuality when I go out (raincoat, snow shoes, sunglasses, scarf and sun hat).
On that note, it’s time for my dinner - a suitably rustic risotto tonight. Just right to warm the cockles on this miserable evening… No wait… the clouds have parted and it look like we might be in for a barmy summer's night after all.
*long story and all will become clear over my next few blogs
**Sherlock - yes. Dr Strange - no. But Sherlock - yes....Oh dear, Dr Strange - no...