The Great British Summer

So, last time I regaled y’all with latest musings of Countrydropper, I was bemoaning the London weather.  As a matter of fact, my exact words were that there were only two seasons: grey, wet and warm and grey, wet and cold.  Well, I am happy to say that London took my challenge and threw down the gauntlet with a month of heat and sunshine.  In fact, dare I say – we actually had the Great British Summer.  Now, I had heard tell of this mythical phenomena and I had even sampled a taste of it the Summer of 2006- my first such season in the UK- when the World Cup was on, the sun was shining, pubs were spilling over with cold beer and good times.  My ground floor flat had giant glass windows painted shut that simulated a stifling global warming greenhouse effect, so I even went so far as to start pricing air conditioning units.  Yes, those first few months residing in London lured me in, like a first date with champagne and roses, making me believe that this was what I could expect for 3 months out of the year. 

Not so much. A little less romance, a little more one night stand.

Fast forward 7 years and I have yet to have had a single sunburn in England.  I have never again contemplated purchasing any cooling device, I own a single ice tray and my sheets and duvet remain heavy Egyptian cotton.   The only consistent and reliable heat I have experienced is that emitting from my blow-dryer.

But, I survived.  I watched the rain soaked Jubilee celebrations from a pub, I wore a raincoat over my wedding attire to attend a Royal Wedding party and I lived in my jean jacket for two weeks solid while checking out the Olympic action at the big screen festival area in my local park.  In short, I did what every good Londoner did and endured the “summer” in a hazy boozy state.  I no longer believed the weather-casters when they predicted a “BBQ Summer” – particularly after I had yet to go through the single gas canister I bought for my BBQ 4 summers ago.  And, let’s face it, when M&S sells umbrellas marketed under the Great British Summer logo, you know we’ve all given up.

But, lo and behold, this summer has proved us all wrong.  After a particularly crappy and long winter, we have had weeks of consecutive sunshine and heat.  I broke out my flip flops, bought some sun dresses and packed away the tan in a can.  Oh joyous celebration, the Great British Summer exists!

And, yet, the warmer it got, the crankier people became.  I expect Londoners to “moan” (btw, this is a particularly odd word for me.  As a Texan, moaning only happens on TV channels that come on after 9 pm so imagine my surprise at the frequency with which people use that word here in lieu of “to complain.”  Actually, when you think about it, it takes a word that describes something positive and makes it describe something negative.).

But, I digress.

Or, rather do I? Because I think the Brits have a way with misnomers.  For people who invented English, they sure struggle with how to use it.

Let me explain.  As you all know, another thing about weather here is that everyone LOVES to talk about it.   Awkward minute or two in the elevator with a stranger?  Comment on the cloudy drizzle.  Beginning of a conference call while waiting for everyone to join?   Whinge about the washed out weekend.  Horribly invasive medical procedure involving stirrups or coughing?  Mention the endless winter. 

So, clearly you are going to need some good adjectives here, right?  Some really descriptive, almost visceral, words to help convey your thoughts.  I mean, this is at least 60% of your conversation so you are going to need some choice options.

 But, no.   You couldn’t be more off if you tried. 

For example, when it is really Houston-muggy and oppressive, the Brits will say it is “close” – close to what I ask?  Hell?  Well, then yes. 

And, if it is teeth-chatteringly icy with gusts of arctic blasts, it is simply “fresh.”  No, folks, I am here to tell you, it ain’t  “fresh,” it is COLD.  Fresh is how you describe fruit or the smell of clean sheets.  Not hypothermia.

So, here we are, FINALLY getting some heat.  And, guess how everyone is reacting?  With jubilation and glee?  Nope.  Yep, you guessed it – they moan.  And guess what the adjective du jour is? 

Boiling.

Boiling?? Really?  OK, I have a thermostat and you can break this down nice and easy in Celsius– it is 30 degrees and 100 is boiling, so you’re pretty much closer to freezing – by a lot – than boiling. 

So, why the extremes now?  We were fresh and close before but we get boiling when the country finally thaws itself out?  Color  (and, yes that is color without the superfluous “u”) me confused.  Moaning is a bad thing, fresh and close are OK, but boiling is awful?    And, yes, I get that the infrastructure isn’t set up for heat – the tube lines contract and screw up all public transport, the offices have poor or non-existent AC, no one has screens on their windows so flies are everywhere in your home and we’re all hot sweaty messes.

But, I have been wet and droopy or a cold and runny-nosed mess for the last 8 months.   So, I am loving this frequent exposure to Vitamin D. My skin is a little more brown, I’ve staved off the rickets for another year and I finally had a reason to buy Jimmy Choo flip flops. 

But.  I won’t lie.  I was happy to go to Prague for the weekend and stay in the Hilton, where I cranked the AC down as far as it would go and just relished the frigid darkness of a hotel room with black out curtains.  And, I found myself curled up on the couch in front of the fan, watching TV rather than lying out in the garden, only to dig out the tan in a can and apply it once the sun had gone down.  And, I have been known to complain a little about my long sweaty hair sticking to my neck and threatening everyone that I must be going through the Change (menopause for my American friends).

So, maybe I have gone a little more native than I thought.

But, if I ever fully succumb and buy an umbrella that says the “Great British Summer” on it, I think it will be time to pack it in and head to Texas where hot is 115 degrees, tapes and makeup melt when left in your car, and you really can cook an egg on the sidewalk. 

Now, that is boiling.