by Simon Henry @simlington
We spend most of the year complaining about how cold, drizzly and depressing it is in Britain.
During deepest winter, the term ‘day’ has a sarcastic ring to it, and getting settled in front of the fire is as good as it gets.
We dream of those long, glorious summer days when the sun shines endlessly, A&E is inundated with burns and the train tracks melt.
But heatwaves aren’t all fun, you know.
Mansfield may be hotter than Malawi. Bognor may be warmer than Burundi. Perth may be more sweltering than, erm, Perth.
But there’s more to a British heatwave than dipping your feet in the North Sea and suffering frostbite, dripping Mr Wippy ice cream on your expensive new Bermuda shorts and sitting in a four-hour traffic jam, failing to get out into the countryside.
No, no, no. It really isn’t all fun. Here are six reasons why.
(It’s too hot to do any more than six.)
British men are either really arrogant and talented TV chefs – or absolutely rubbish at cooking.
The majority can just about peel a banana, warm stuff in the microwave and open tins. They also think they can do the barbecue during a heatwave.
And of course they can’t – so levels of botulism and salmonella poising rise faster than the mercury in the thermometer.
The British do translucent skin like no other nation.
Staring at the bluish tinge of a pair of traditional British legs does having a cooling effect on the viewer.
But it also makes you wonder just how people who own this type of skin can survive with literally zero Vitamin D in their system.
The sight of a scrawny, tattooed, tanned youth riding a stolen bike while rolling a cigarette, drinking a can of Stella and swearing into a mobile makes a translucent, middle-aged, slightly overweight, non-multitasking man feel ever so slightly inadequate.
Old ladies continue to wear the same anoraks, fleeces and wool hat combinations they sport in February.
Just looking at these ladies can make you pass out in a haze of overheated anguish.
Although British men are cleaner than they used to be, a minority still believes that deodorant is only for women and effeminate males.
And a reasonably large subset of this moderately big subset still lives by the saying: ‘I have a bath once a month, whether I need it or not.’
Stand next to one of these old school morons on a packed Tube or bus journey and you’ll rue the high pressure creeping over the country from the Azores.
People start writing annoying ‘humorous’ blogs about heatwaves.
And like a little child in a sweet shop who ends up getting so excited they’re sick on the floor, when the British weather gets too excitedly hot, it all ends in sickening thunderstorms before the dominant weather fronts from the west re-establish themselves in all their depressing, damp, drizzly glory.
Follow me @simlington on Twitter for more laughs.
Copyright Simon Henry @simlington 2014