So let me explain why the UK has the world’s worst weather. I am writing this from the north of England. So, maybe a tad worse than London where in my opinion the UK weather is the finest, but it’s still rather shit.
So, let’s not split hairs and talk about old Blighty in one broad stroke. The king of mundane, the atrocity of mediocrity, damp as the plaster behind the wallpaper of every home in the country.
Let’s be clear here, we are not talking about extreme weather. That is unless you consider the phenomenon of horizontal rain worthy of this category. Worst is a subjective word but for me and so many who reside here, planning our escape, it is the worst.
So, I will now share with you some of the reasons why. The weather is more than a backdrop or a scene to one’s daily life. It affects every aspect of the day-to-day in Great Britain. The culture of the country, the working hours, the food, the personalities of the people who live there. It is all dictated by the weather, entwined into the DNA of people evolved to endure and not ask questions.
The Pub
The pub solves many a problem, provides an activity for the sun or for snow. You won’t get to go skiing, you won’t get to go swimming in the sea, but you could sink a few cold ones. You can count on Tracy to fill them up.
As soon as it’s 19 degrees and sunny, people over 40 years old begin shrivelling like prunes and making statements like ‘’Ooh, I say June, it’s too hot for me this love’’. Before finding their way back to their armchair to watch bargain hunt.
They’ve evolved this way having only seen a handful of days like this a year for their entire life. It stops them in their tracks unable to function. If you stay too long you too will be ruined. Slipping on your one pair of shorts and getting out the barbecue as soon as the mercury reaches double figures for its annual use. The same bag of charcoal covered in cobwebs in the shed that you bought 5 years ago, pre-covid when it was under £5 a bag. Halycon days.
Humidity be gone
May 1st was the first day I didn’t wear a coat. No doubt some bellends will have been wearing shorts since March. In this country, some people think whether they should wear shorts or not depends on the month of the year. Rather than the weather itself.
I suppose understandably had they not this paradigm they may never get to wear their shorts or just a handful of days a year. On the upside, one pair may last decades. I’m sure charity shops are inundated in almost new shorts. As people’s waists grow much faster than they can wear them out.
The landfill sites across the country are full up with 50% of shorts. Damaged moss-covered garden furniture, inverted, torn parasols and umbrellas. Along with sodden bags of charcoal. Just yet more victims of the summer’s ‘’great’’ weather. It’s like living at sea. The washing lines have survived but they’ve been used less times than the ½ pint glasses at Wetherspoons.
This is why in Britain a lot of people seem to enjoy camping so much. It’s just like being at home cold, wet and damp.
Memories of summer holidays spent at the beach trying not to be blown over by the wind. And shielding from torrential rain in the rockpools wrapped in PVC. The only warmth coming from the sweat evaporating in the 90’s unbreathable attire.
Getting out of the shower or rising from the bath. The dread, laying there until the bathwater becomes lukewarm, forcing you out into the cold. That is unless you’re a multi-millionaire who can afford to have the heating on all year round at 20 degrees. Or one so fortunate to live in a house that’s insulated sufficiently that it can keep the radiant heat from the hot water in the central heating (that’s more expensive than liquid gold) from shooting out of its Victorian crevices. Most of us mortals choosing between eating and being warm.
The only saving grace is that at least there’s fish and chips.