The nice day in August

Ok, so you all have heard me complain, endlessly, about the weather in mighty blighty over these last few years. I either get pained, empathetic winks and nods or am just ignored when I start on my 'oh, cruel climate why have thou forsaken me' speech. Angus is fond of reminding me that I grew up in the Canadian Prairies and, therefore, should be used to shite weather; but, I remind him that I haven't lived in Alberta since I was 17 mainly for that reason (and that he is mean for not letting me whine every day about something so mundane).

I love the heat and sun. Love it. Love it, love it, love it and, well, the United Kingdom of Great Britain sorely lacks both of these glorious elements that contribute to my overall health and well-being. Despite this, the climate here is fine. It is reliable. Not flashy...the 'taupe' of the climate world. For example, we don't get snow storms in September or June like was common in my childhood (gulp...excuse me while I calm myself down from the odd memories of returning back to school in September wearing snow boots) and we don't get so hot that we have to scamper from air conditioner to air conditioner to feel normal (which I hate just because AC is rather lame...give me a ceiling fan, a bathing suit, open windows and a stereo and I'm pretty much in heaven. Heat, baby! That's where it's at, aaaaaiight). What we do get in the British Isles is the same thing aaaallll yyyyyeaaaaarrrr loooooonnnnngg: temperate, mild, generally overcast days with a spattering of sun and sprinkling of rain every now and then for dramatic effect and a sense of balance. January is like June and May like March. Simple. Moderate. Predictable.

The thing is, no one who actually lives here has caught on to the fact that the weather the same all year round. Seriously, no one. And, in no other season is this so apparent as the summer. Every summer an elaborate pre-summer ritual takes place among all UK inhabitants in which we talk about grilling food and drinking cocktails terrace-side, we make dates well in advance for outside parties, picnics, and play, and we fill our wardrobes with sandals and airy, fleshy tops and bottoms to wear when it's too damn hot. But the summer never comes. Sure, it warms up a little between May and August and the longer days give a sense of something summery, but the charcoal, picnic baskets and tube tops usually remain unused and are, about this time of year, finally packed away again in anticipation of another chance next year. Sigh...

This year we actually had the worst summer ever! Ever. I'll go that far. It was dreary, dark and, I think, objectively cold for most of July and August and I can actually count the days when it was warm and sunny on one hand.

Here is a perfect summation from the BBC Weather website:

August 2008 in EnglandVery unsettled with heavy rain or showers for much of the month. It was also an exceptionally dull month.
August 2008 in ScotlandA very dull and wet month for much of the country, although drier and sunnier than average across Orkney and Shetland.
August 2008 in Northern IrelandAn exceptionally wet and dull month.
August 2008 in WalesVery unsettled with heavy rain or showers for much of the month. It was also an exceptionally dull month.

We had one nice day in August. One. Boy, oh boy, did we have a nice day when it finally came...