We are a funny lot when it comes to the weather aren’t we? At the end of January we were all sitting wondering about whether global warming might be the cause of our particularly mild and dry winter. Then, with appropriate forewarning, the February cold snap came upon us.
Now, we were all told it was going to get really cold and that we’d be in line for some pretty heavy snowfall across the nation. We even had a week or so to prepare ourselves. But still, when the temperature plummeted and the flakes began to fall (exactly when the lovely BBC weather man told us it would), we were shocked, unprepared and within minutes were complaining that we couldn’t possibly cope. It was as if we’d all woken up to find ourselves in a tent with only Ernest Shackleton and a penguin for company. Frankly I found it all rather embarrassing.
Of course it wasn’t the first time such embarrassing weather behaviour had afflicted us Brits. We hate the heat (even though we only ever get a couple of days of proper heat each summer), and we hate the rain (even though we’re a nation that is famous for its precipitation). And if we get a wind that is only marginally stronger than that which was aimed at the little piggy’s house, we complain that it was like we had woken up in Kansas with Toto flying around above our heads.
The fact is that the British weather is to all intents and purposes, dull, and most of us (perhaps tellingly) like that. In fact, we’re kind of renowned across the globe for our lacklustre weather.
No-one ever comes to the UK expecting any kind of climate extremes and of course if anything ever does happen that is slightly out of the ordinary the country grinds to a halt, particularly the transport system. You’d get pretty low odds if you placed a bet on at least one of our esteemed methods of transport failing during some inclement weather. Tubes, trains, roads and airports have all failed us in recent years.
So the latest news is that because we’ve had another dry winter, it looks like we’re facing the biggest water crisis since 1976 and that we’ll be heading into a drought this summer. And it’s the south-east that’s got it pretty bad. Rainfall down here over recent months has been lower than before the infamous 1976 drought, making it our region’s third dry winter in a row. And even the aforementioned recent snow hasn’t really helped. (Apparently one foot of the white stuff only translates into one inch of water.) So some rivers and streams are already running dry, reservoirs in Kent and Sussex are 60 per cent empty and yet again, the weather has surprised us and we are all going to have to take belated preventative measures.
What we have to hope for is what normally happens in the UK. That suddenly, and out of nowhere, the weather turns a corner. We need the heavens to dramatically open (and for some considerable time) in order to redress the water balance. But of course if that happens, will we rejoice? Will we thank the heavens for saving us from a summer of hosepipe bans, washing up by hand and sharing baths with friends?
No, of course not. We won’t celebrate if it rains and we get saved from this potential drought, what we’ll do is moan. Because we always moan about the weather, whatever it is. And why? Because we’re British and it’s what we do.
NOTE TO SELF: There’s no such thing as bad weather – just the wrong clothes.
