An old friend, who would in olden times have been described as a wag, which these days means something rather different, observes that he appears to have slept for the last four to five months and woken up in November. Sitting here in the gloom, with only strong coffee and Lauren Laverne to comfort me, I know exactly what he means. Like me, I suspect he is not entirely surprised by the turn of weather events because this is almost always what happens in what we laughably refer to as the Great British Summer, just as the school’s almost out for summer and for some folk, forever.
I’ve long held the view that actually our weather is exactly the same all year round. The only difference is that at some times of year – let’s refer to them as autumn, winter and spring – it’s even colder than it is now. And with my traditional half empty glass at hand, I fear that summer, at least the version of summer we seem to prefer, is over and we’re now into endless November.
This will seem very odd to those of you away from Old Blighty – or should I refer to it as Cold Blighty? No, probably not – who are enduring Death Valley type temperatures in Italy, Greece, Spain and basically everywhere else in Europe. I am an avid follower of what the weather is really like abroad, given that so many people have a propensity to exaggerate, sometimes wildly, the temperatures of the place where they were staying. Some years ago, I remember someone telling me that while on holiday in Ibiza the temperature had reached 47c, but also that it was no problem at all. All you needed to do was drink a cold beer or have a dip in the pool, presumably not at the same time. A cursory check of the internet soon revealed that the hottest temperature ever recorded in Ibiza was 38.4c back in 2016, which is still staggeringly hot. I suppose this kind of thing impresses some people, even if it isn’t actually true.
I have installed a weather station at home, with an outdoor sensor which gives me what seems to be an accurate temperature reading, if Met Office updates are anything to go by. It’s not long after 9.00am here in South Gloucestershire and already it’s a soaraway 14.9c, which is almost 6c warmer than the November average of 8c, so actually my old friend, the wag, was definitely onto something with his suggestion that many months had gone by without him noticing. To be fair, it happens to me all the time.
Summers like ours are why some people, me included, seek out guaranteed sunshine in the summer months. As bad luck would have it, our Balearic excursion in June saw us enjoying weather that was actually slightly cooler than it was at home, but to be honest I didn’t dwell on that at all. I know people say things like “if we had the weather, no one would go abroad”, something I don’t necessarily agree with, but imagine what Cornwall would be like if literally everyone went there instead of abroad?
The main thing I am surprised about with our changeable summers is why some people are surprised. It’s endlessly disappointing, perhaps, but surely not surprising?
