It has been a bad summer indeed. The winter duvet has been put back on and heavy wool cardigans and blazers have made continued reappearances. Dreams of bbqs have been abandoned as rusting grills sit in forlorn isolation amongst grass that has grown rapidly in constant downpours. Bright clothing and cheerily vibrant nail polish seem like ironic rejoinders to omnipresent grey clouds. This is not British summer, this is the end times. Days with no rain and moderate sunlight, such as last Sunday, are treasured because we know how quickly the darkness returns (Monday morning, if you were curious). Even watching adverts is enough to send you spiralling into a depression as the sun-lit gardens, forest parties and smiling people frolicking barefoot on snail and slug-free ground reminds you of what could have been.
Now I look at my sunglasses sadly before taking them out of my bag because I know that they are unnecessary. Everything feels like a temptation of cruel British fate. Wearing a sundress and flats with a cardigan added for modesty rather than warmth means that the rain will happen almost instantaneously and without mercy, each cold lashing of water a reminder of your foolhardy optimism. If you’re lucky. Sometimes it’s hail.
I have joined the growing number of Britons (and their allies) against British summer. Enough is enough. You can take your grey skies, increments of sunshine and never-ending rain and stuff it. I am officially done with summer. Bring on autumn, at least then the weather will make sense. Here are a few articles of people equally grumpy about the weather.
The Times (subscription required)
“When the proverbial cheapness of chips comes under threat, the Times says enough is enough. Let us make our position crystal clear: we are against this weather. It must stop raining, and soon.”