Having gone missing for a number of years, the Summer has returned to the UK. It’s time to kill the fatted calf, and fire up the BBQ. With temperatures consistently around 30 deg C – for those of you still using the other system: C/5 = (F-32)/9 –us Brits are finding it rather warm. This time last year we were bracing ourselves for the London Olympics; this year we’re basking in the sunshine, celebrating the fact that a Scottish Brit won Wimbledon, the Lions’ won a test series in Australia, and we’re already one up in the Ashes. What else can possibly happen?
Of course, we’re headed for the predictable doom-mongering response from the media. Newspaper editors are dusting down those ‘Phew, What a Scorcher’ headlines that haven’t seen the light of day for several years, and climate change is destined to become front-page news again, along with all of the quirky fall out from the heat; the M25 melting, rails buckling outside Waterloo station, and ‘Health & Safety’ constantly reminding us of imminent disaster. We’re probably only days away from hosepipe bans as the foreign owners of our water companies see a risk of reduced profits if we start using the stuff. They are already going around whistling ‘It Might as well Rain until September’.
For those of you in other parts of the world, please be gentle with us; we’re all tired and crotchety because we’re having trouble sleeping, but we’ll get over it and soon we’ll be back to just being crotchety.
Today the Express warns us of ‘Two Days of Killer Heat Coming’ – it pushed Wayne Rooney some way down the front page. The Mail managed to squeeze in ‘Send Workers Home if Temperatures Hit 30C’ after all of the critical ‘must-know’ celebrity gossip. The Mirror was positively restrained, but was probably rather distracted by Wayne Rooney’s opinion that United’s negativity corresponded to ‘constructive dismissal’ – heart wrenching! The Sun doesn’t do weather; flesh – yes, weather – no!
Of course, the last time we had a Summer, we didn’t have Twitter, so who needs the news agencies? We can all Tweet ‘Phew, What a Scorcher’, as often as we like.
As is the custom at times like these, a significant proportion of the population heads for the coast on the mistaken assumption, that they may get relief from all of these degrees by shedding clothing and basking on the edge of the ocean with about 5 million like minded souls. Pictures of Brighton beach at the weekend looked something like a flesh-pot nightmare. Me? I’m keeping the wine chilled, tying the knots in the corners of my handkerchief and heading for the shade of the old apple tree. You know it makes sense.