The British Weather: Too Wet, Too Hot, and Somehow Still Our Fault
by David Palethorpe
We had “a drop of rain” yesterday morning in Ipplepen which naturally for all of us who meet whilst walking our dogs became that major topic of conversation and the fact that the world seems intent in going to hell in a handcart was for a time forgotten.
There are few subjects guaranteed to unite the British people quite like the weather.
Politics may and increasingly does divide us, football may cause family members to stop speaking to one another, and religion is generally best avoided at all times but especially at the dinner table.
But…………
Mention the weather and suddenly everyone has something to say.
It is too cold.
It is too hot.
It is raining.
It is not raining enough.
It is windy.
It is not windy enough to blow the washing off the line.
The British have turned complaining about the weather into a national art form, and climate change has added an intriguing new dimension to the performance.
For generations, the British have regarded the weather as something that happens to us, rather than something we have any influence over.
We don’t control it.
We simply endure it, discuss it, and occasionally blame the Government.
A few years ago, forty consecutive days of rain as experienced earlier this year would have been regarded as perfectly normal British weather.
The drains would overflow, enormous puddles would appear everywhere, rivers would swell, reservoirs would fill to the brim and the countryside would become an astonishing number of shades of green.
This Green and Pleasant Land
“Lovely,” we’d say.
“Bit wet, though.”
Then the sun would come out.
For several days.
Then several weeks.
Suddenly temperatures would climb into the mid-thirties.
The pavements would shimmer.
Trains would slow down and come to a halt because the rails had become too hot.
The grass would turn the colour of toast.
Trees would start shedding their leaves in what appeared to be an emergency evacuation.
And the British would discover that sunshine, which we had spent six months begging for, was actually quite unpleasant.
“It’s too hot.”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Can’t breathe.”
“Why doesn’t anyone have air conditioning in this country?”
This is the fundamental British contradiction: we want sunshine, but not excessive sunshine; rain, but not too much rain; warmth, but preferably around 21 degrees, with a gentle breeze and perhaps a small cloud between 2:15 and 2:27 in the afternoon.
Climate change complicates matters considerably because it turns our favourite conversational subject into something rather more serious.
We have always treated unusual weather as entertainment.
Now we increasingly have to consider whether some of what we’re experiencing is part of a changing climate.
That creates an awkward situation for the average Briton.
On one hand, we are perfectly capable of accepting that the climate is changing.
On the other, we remain suspicious of anyone who mentions it while we are standing in the rain.
“Climate change?”
“Possibly.”
“Global warming?”
“Could be.”
“Anyway, did you see that downpour yesterday?”
The British relationship with climate change is therefore wonderfully complicated.
We understand the broad concept, but we also reserve the right to dismiss it whenever the weather happens to contradict our expectations.
If it’s freezing in April, someone will say, “Global warming, eh?”
If it’s 35 degrees in July, someone else will say, “There you are. Climate change.”
If it rains for three weeks, everyone concludes that the weather has gone mad.
And if we have a beautiful sunny weekend, we forget all about climate change and immediately start planning a barbecue.
There is also a curious British tendency to measure climate change personally.
“My father never had air conditioning.”
“I remember snow up to the windows in 1978.”
“Winters aren’t what they used to be.”
“My roses have never flowered this early.”
“My lawn has died.”
All of these observations may be perfectly genuine, but collectively they form the world’s least scientific climate-monitoring system:
Grandad’s Weather Memory.
Nevertheless, perhaps this is where British humour serves a useful purpose.
We joke about the rain, the heat, the hosepipe bans, the flooded roads and the absurdity of trying to dress appropriately for a day when the weather forecast changes every eleven minutes.
But underneath the jokes is a growing recognition that something is changing.
We may continue to complain when it rains.
We may complain when it doesn’t rain.
We may complain when it is 30 degrees.
We may complain when it falls to 10.
That part of being British is unlikely to change.
Indeed, if climate change eventually produces the perfect British summer — warm but not too warm, dry but not too dry, sunny but not scorching — we will probably find something else to complain about.
Because the British don’t really require good weather.
We require weather about which we can complain.
And preferably having a cup of tea while we’re doing it.
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