It’s 32 degrees in the capital, so what do we do? We moan. Schools close early. Workers sweat through shirts and bitch about the heat.
It rains often on our little isle, and what is our response? We whinge. Schools lock up children during lunch breaks. Workers collide umbrellas on narrow pavements and fire dagger eyes.
During the winter, it snows. We don’t cope well. Schools will not even entertain opening, because the headteacher lives in a nicer area out of town, and she can’t drive with 3mm of ice under the wheels of her 4×4. Businesses do likewise. The country comes to a standstill.
But most of the year it’s cloudy and mild. We bang on about British weather being awful, that we can’t wait for a fortnight in the sun, that some mid 30s Mediterranean getaway is exactly what we need.
We are British. We hate all weather.