Born to kvetch

Oh we do love a good moan don't we, and nothing gets the British going more than the weather, because let's face it, we deserve better. We complain about it for months on end as we make our way through the drizzle and trudge to work in wind, rain, snow and fog. In winter we complain that it's too cold. In summer we complain that it's too hot. In spring it gets all fresh and clear and we all know that's just not natural so we complain about that too if we know what's good for us.

We devoutly check the weather forecast and eagerly await the new front predicted by the man on the tele. As it approaches we prepare our summer clothes, and at the slightest hint of daylight we don shorts and sandals, and stubbornly wade through the slightly warmer drizzle than before.

And then it hits! The heat wave! There's always a heat WAVE! It comes swimming over us, crashing down over our heads and oppressing us to the ground.

And so is born a feeling of entitlement, because why should we do anything else when the weather is like this? How can people expect us to work when it's this hot? They must be bloody mental.

The fact is we complain because we like to. It's therapeutic and keeps us on our toes. The way I like the weather is just hot enough so that I can complain that it's too hot. Just hot enough that it makes you go "Phroooarr it's bloody hot isn't it". So you can enjoy the warmth, but also feel just on the verge of discomfort. Otherwise you're just not getting your money's worth.

But then, like that, it's suddenly gone again. All we had was a couple of days. From 30 degrees yesterday it's now 18 degrees today. Where's our bloody heat gone? It's typical isn't it. I hadn't finished. I was complaining about that!