Heavy Weather

          I once heard a mountain climber from America say how baffled he was by the number of Brits he encountered on the major continental ranges. Since the peaks of Britain are relatively short of stature, he had not expected them to provide adequate training for the development of such expertise. But then he got it: variable weather is the key. British climbers’ skills are enhanced by the layer of resilience required to deal with frequent and abrupt changes in the weather in, say, the Cairngorms or Snowdonia. Another American, Bill Bryson, observed this trait, albeit at a lower altitude, when he commented that only the British could imagine they were having fun crouched behind a sheltering rock with a cheese sandwich and a thermos of tea.

          None of this is proof that we are a universally hardy island race, of course. One has only to note the steady exodus to reliably sunny holiday destinations and the resulting decline of our once popular domestic seaside resorts to realise that, though we may be accustomed to the weather, we don’t really like its changeability. And even those few of us who do, sometimes get sick of its being a conversational mainstay. That said, July, although it did not provide us with overt summery joy, did compensate with much-needed rain, which plumped up the wild blackberries and will ensure an abundant (and early) crop of juicy apples. (So, in anticipation of nature’s bounty, we have acquired a small, pre-owned chest-freezer to accommodate the large quantities of stewed fruit we are already starting to accumulate.)

          Early August has brought some sunnier spells and a stream of friends and family to our manor, attracted, I’m sure, by the unique combination of the delights of the SW English Riviera and our own, universally acknowledged, good company. Among our visitors were a couple of friends and their nine-year-old twin daughters, who came in a campervan the same size as ours and with whom we spent a couple of days near the Cornish fishing port-cum-holiday town of Looe. We camped on a clifftop with a lovely view of the bay, a steep walk to the beach and a high degree of vulnerability to the prevailing winds, all of which we enjoyed in varying degrees. Not that we heard even one word of complaint, but our friends’ campervanning experience has mostly been in the south of France, as was evident in the fact that their set-up is what I would call continental – an awning for shade, facilities for cooking and dining al fresco etc. Their van is for travelling and sleeping in, whereas ours is capable of sustaining us comfortably for twenty four hours without setting foot outside. As it happens, the days were sunny enough for outdoor activities, but our communal suppers had some elemental challenges. On the first night there was no rain, but the windbreak we had stashed in our locker had to be erected around the picnic table to prevent food being blown off plates and our friends had to retract their awning before it flapped itself to shreds. On the second night, there was barely a breeze, but the rain started at mealtime and the awning was usefully deployed as a parapluie rather than a parasol. Later, with the children abed, we adults squeezed into our van for a nightcap.

          Britain’s weather may, arguably, play a part in the formation of national character. As a topic of conversation, it has always been a useful opener, though not one to drawl on about for too long. But perhaps this is about to change. Now that weather is consistently headline news all over the world, not just because of its variability and extreme, violent unpredictability, but also because of our failure to address, insofar as we are able, the causes of this change, now is certainly the time to have serious conversations about it.