by Grace Acklam
In the midst of one of England’s rare heatwaves, it seems only right that the mutual hatred
and love of the sun should be addressed. We seem entirely unequipped for any temperature
above 15 degrees, and the majority of us frazzle within minutes of stepping out the shade. It
can also be duly noted that when the weather forecast predicts sun for an entire day, without
light showers or some cloud, the flip flops, sundresses and hairy topless chests make an
appearance. We as a country do not know how to react to the heat, other than continually
complaining to our friends that were “sweating like pigs.” Yet every year, there is a heat
wave, and history repeats itself, so it poses the question, if the same thing happens every
year, why is British summer time our biggest battle?
As a country, we spend two thirds of the year in hibernation, with our heating on, and hiding
under piles of blankets. The weather during this time ranges from single figures to minus
figures, and there is no margin beyond or below that. The winter sun begins in September
and only ceases in April, half way through the supposed “Spring”. It seems as if the Winter
will never end. When Winter does end, however, for the four golden months, we receive heat
wave after heat wave, and when they disappear and are replaced by rain for one weekend
each month, we all sigh and ask what more we could expect from rainy old England. This is
not entirely accurate though, because it is not just a heatwave, it is Summer.
When this realisation finally does sink in, we all take it upon ourselves to throw on the the
dodgy sun hats and barely there shorts, and spend every day lounging around in every
possible place, ignoring the many mosquito bites, and despite complaining about the mere
18 degree heat, escape to exotic places and bathe in 35 degree heat for a week. Not only
that, but we then complain profusely about the burn we brought upon ourselves by wearing
only SPF10 and tanning oil, in order to “make the most out of the seldom sun” that we saved
all year for. Whilst short and not at all like the long hot summers they experience in places
like America, it cannot be argued that we don’t make the most out of the limited heat that we
are gifted with, because if anything, we take it for granted. We wish it away, start asking for
the rain and the cold, both of which are soon handed back to us.
The minute that the sun retreats back behind the clouds, and the leaves start to hit the
ground from the trees that we fought for shade under only two weeks ago, we revert to our
previous hobby of endless moping over the fact we live in England and that it rains for what
feels like the majority of the year. We return back to school or work, compliment each other
on the peeling skin and bad tan lines, and carry on as if we didn’t just become obsessive
sun-seekers for four months. We then wait another 8 months, and wait for the chaos to
ensue once again, which it will, because it always does, and we as a nation are always
rendered helpless.
In the midst of one of England’s rare heatwaves, it seems only right that the mutual hatred
and love of the sun should be addressed. We seem entirely unequipped for any temperature
above 15 degrees, and the majority of us frazzle within minutes of stepping out the shade. It
can also be duly noted that when the weather forecast predicts sun for an entire day, without
light showers or some cloud, the flip flops, sundresses and hairy topless chests make an
appearance. We as a country do not know how to react to the heat, other than continually
complaining to our friends that were “sweating like pigs.” Yet every year, there is a heat
wave, and history repeats itself, so it poses the question, if the same thing happens every
year, why is British summer time our biggest battle?
As a country, we spend two thirds of the year in hibernation, with our heating on, and hiding
under piles of blankets. The weather during this time ranges from single figures to minus
figures, and there is no margin beyond or below that. The winter sun begins in September
and only ceases in April, half way through the supposed “Spring”. It seems as if the Winter
will never end. When Winter does end, however, for the four golden months, we receive heat
wave after heat wave, and when they disappear and are replaced by rain for one weekend
each month, we all sigh and ask what more we could expect from rainy old England. This is
not entirely accurate though, because it is not just a heatwave, it is Summer.
When this realisation finally does sink in, we all take it upon ourselves to throw on the the
dodgy sun hats and barely there shorts, and spend every day lounging around in every
possible place, ignoring the many mosquito bites, and despite complaining about the mere
18 degree heat, escape to exotic places and bathe in 35 degree heat for a week. Not only
that, but we then complain profusely about the burn we brought upon ourselves by wearing
only SPF10 and tanning oil, in order to “make the most out of the seldom sun” that we saved
all year for. Whilst short and not at all like the long hot summers they experience in places
like America, it cannot be argued that we don’t make the most out of the limited heat that we
are gifted with, because if anything, we take it for granted. We wish it away, start asking for
the rain and the cold, both of which are soon handed back to us.
The minute that the sun retreats back behind the clouds, and the leaves start to hit the
ground from the trees that we fought for shade under only two weeks ago, we revert to our
previous hobby of endless moping over the fact we live in England and that it rains for what
feels like the majority of the year. We return back to school or work, compliment each other
on the peeling skin and bad tan lines, and carry on as if we didn’t just become obsessive
sun-seekers for four months. We then wait another 8 months, and wait for the chaos to
ensue once again, which it will, because it always does, and we as a nation are always
rendered helpless.
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