It’s June and there’s a heatwave here, or at least what would definitely be named for a heatwave back home in Northern Ireland, given that the temperature is 24 degrees centigrade. I am prompted on hot days like this to consider how different the weather is in Hertfordshire from summer conditions in Ireland.
In May, everyone in and around the town where I live, not far north of London, was complaining about the grey skies and rain and ‘cold winds’ and I even heard of folk who were feeling depressed by the conditions when I was actually enjoying them. I’d take the dog for a walk in the meadow not far from the house. The trees rustled in the May breeze and the grass was verdant. This temperature of 24 degrees that has succeeded it is too warm for me. The unabated sunshine feels punishing. The clay soil becomes dry and cracked. During last summer, during Corona virus lock down, I truly yearned for the damp summers of Ulster. One tortuous day, when lock down receded for a while, we headed up to Milton Keynes to do some necessary, masked shopping.
I thought I would expire in the suffocating, quasi-Saharan heat.
Not that there aren’t advantages of this kind of warmth. Pub gardens can be enjoyed until closing time. You can eat outdoor lunches and have BBQ evenings without fear of strong winds and heavy rain. You can do outdoor theatre. Any attempt to hold outdoor events in towns like the one where I lived was a sure invitation to the weatherman to call in squalls and rainstorms from the Atlantic. I do remember thirty years ago how much I relished a four week stay in Spain each year because of the opportunity it gave me for lounging by the pool or heading out for wine and tapas at 11 pm. A perfect prep for September’s return to teaching.
But I think I’ve changed. Maybe it’s age. I know one is supposed to get cold and wary of drafts in one’s latter years but I think I prefer the thought of chilling out in every sense of the phrase not that I am turning 66..Every environment has its dominant weather which I suppose I should officially call its climate – and there is much discussion about the damage we are doing to our weather systems and considerable, valid alarm that we are going through a destructive climate change. I am aware that the terrain on which we live has been at various stages covered in ice and then reduced to a hot, arid plain. Volcanoes have spouted lava where I now stay when back home in Ulster, under a sodden canvas sheet, trying to enjoy my August BBQ. I have heard crass comments in Ireland about how great it would be if global warming brings us better weather. This is inhumane and it is folly. A warmer earth doesn’t translate into a warmer Ireland.
As for now, I’ll enjoy both the sunny June days in Hertfordshire and the cool, rainy, Atlantic July and August that will almost certainly greet me on my return. It’s good to be able to switch between the two across the length and breadth of this archipelago. Someday that may not be possible.