As the sun has been shining down on London the past two days, a British woman cannot help but to react the same way most British people react. By complaining.
Tuesday 23rd August 2016.
The sun was scorching. I knew as soon as I had laid in bed that I could not fight the sun. The fact was that the bedroom I was sleeping in, my university bedroom, had suddenly become an oven. It was hot beyond imagination. With the covers off me, as well as most of my clothing that had been thrown aside in an anguished attempt to feel a traditionally British cool temperature, I suddenly acknowledged there was nothing to do to make myself cool. I had left the fan at my hometown house and so was unable to cool down, even with a window open. There was no breeze. The only answer at this point was to remove the skin that was attached to my body, but I knew that this would mean embarking on a crusade that would resemble James Franco’s struggle in his film 127 Hours.
Wednesday 24th August 2016.
I had an interview. I awoke at the early time of 8am. Far too early for a university student who was used to waking up post-noon. With a long effort of making myself look presentable for a job interview that I felt confident about, I left the house to take the bus. This travel was easy. No heat. Until I left the bus and found that my feet walked naturally quickly to undertake the tasks I needed to do before attending the interview. With sweat covering my brow, I knew I must have looked an utter mess when attending the interview but I felt that considering the employer was a stranger to me as much as I were to him, I could only consider that he thought this must have been my normal appearance. Whether negatively or positively, I felt that I had maintained to pull off a flustered look to the best of my ability. I looked flustered but presentable.
Thursday 25th August 2016.
I arrived back at my hometown. I got the job for the interview I had the day before and so imagined that my flustered look must have been more attractive than I had previously considered the day prior. The heat however had not cooled down. Sweat was trembling already in my body, only awaiting for one simple body movement that would potentially cause me to look like an overheated mess all the more. The air seemed to scream a British choir of ‘It’s too hot, It’s too hot!’. A natural complaint among British people. We dislike the rain and shake our heads at the downpour, we even tut, we want the sun, but when the sun arrives and we feel sunbeams heating our skin more than we are used to it consequently causes us to complain. Complaining is in our nature. It is a stereotype about the British people that is true.
As a British woman from London, the excitement of Summer is something that Brits all share. You will hear an encore throughout the Autumn and Winter seasons of ‘Oh, I can’t wait for Summer!’ but this chant is nothing but a misunderstood phrase. When we say we want Summer, we do not want the weather that it obtains. We only want the heat of the sun, in the Summer, if we are abroad in some foreign country on vacation. If it is in Britain that we receive it then we do not want it. We cannot cope with the Summer in Britain but we can cope with it within another country such as Spain or the USA or Greece, etc, because it is considered to be natural in such countries to have such heat. We can cope for the natural temperatures of these foreign lands. We cannot cope for the unnatural weather in our own land.
For those who are not British, it can seem ridiculous and almost outlandish. It is fact however. So if a British person tells you that they’re enjoying the sun in their own country, then they are either TOO optimistic and have been having an eventful day that requires such sun, or they are insane. They’re melting. No British citizen can deal with the heat. Even if it is only 27 degrees.