No one’s ever going to be able to pretend that the British don’t find inordinate pleasure in verbalising at length regarding the state of the weather. It’s simply never right. Too cold in the summer. Too warm in the winter. And vice versa of course. Should the day ever arrive when the temperature and climate is just right, the unachievable Goldilocks scenario if you will, I’m sure there will be many a complaint that such bliss will never last.
For all the time we spend longing for a bit of sunshine when it arrives we’re all too quick to criticise. Sure, the sunbathers flock to the beaches initially and there’s a national run on ice cream but the ebullient atmosphere soon sours. We’re simply not equipped to deal with excessive heat. Many, of a strictly anti sweltering conditions disposition such as I, merely melt into puddles of former consciousness. Others bake into crisps that some inventive marketing type may look to sell before too long.
It’s even worse on the continent. Superheating or European spite (or something, I’m sure I was supposed to pay attention in Geography. Perhaps if I had I could sound a little more knowledgeable now. Oh well, I imagine I’ll live. Provided the clouds don’t swoop down from the sky and devour me in their mighty jaws. They do that, right?) ensure that the air is toasty warm day and night. It makes things a little sticky when you come to bed. On the other hand, the jam sandwiches I have for midnight feast purposes could have something to do with that particular sensation.
So let’s have a moment of silence for the heatwave. It’s not its fault that we pine for sunshine and complain endlessly when it arrives. The heatwave thought everyone would be happy that their sunshine quota for the year would be fulfilled in thirty seconds flat. But it was not to be. Have your moment of quiet and then hope very hard for a slight relent from the sweltering weather.