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Whining about the weather


Emily

Emily, 19, is doing work experience at TheSite.org. She is studying Multi-Media Journalism at Bournemouth University and loves French films, musicals and living by the seaside.

Emily is bored of British people being so preoccupied with the weather. Why are we never prepared and always unsatisfied?

Why is everyone in Britain so obsessed with the weather? British weather is awful - fact. British summers are generally disappointing - fact. We all know this but still manage to get our hopes up only to feel under-prepared and frustrated.

Back in April I was certain summer had come early. After sweaty lecture theatres we swapped our books for beach towels and went to Bournemouth beach. The sandy strip was full of students eating ice creams, splashing around in the sea and generally embracing the premature sunshine. It now seems like a distant dream.

Crash back down to earth and this summer was like a nightmare. I returned home from university to flood warnings and images on the news of streets that had become rivers. It was ridiculous. I contacted two of my uni friends, one in Yorkshire and the other in Oxfordshire after seeing their towns underwater. Luckily they weren't directly affected and had managed to avoid the water shortages and sanitation problems. For so long now we've been lectured about climate change heating up our world. It's a shame they couldn't warn us about that we were more at risk of flooding than we'd ever imagine. Maybe people would have realised how important insurance was.

As the rain continued, more and more people start complaining. Among these were my parents who were utterly devastated when Wimbledon games didn't run to schedule. 'Timmy' was never going to win anyway so it hardly mattered. Did they want someone to wave a magical wand over Wimbledon to prevent rain from falling there? All jokes aside, I read in the newspaper the other day that Alton Towers is considering 'rain controlling techniques' for public holidays. Surely they won't be allowed to start playing God. Everyone will want a go.

Getting away from my disheartened parents I began working five days a week at my local theme park. Ever the optimist I thought the rain was doing me a favour, by keeping the crowds away. Despite the rain, miserable toddlers were still forced to board the open-top train and sit wincing as it circled twice round the track. Their parents must have woken up and forgotten to open the curtains. If it's not sunny don't take your children to an outdoor attraction. It's that simple.

"As the sun beat down, so did the drops of sweat, straight from his head onto his jacket. It was disgusting."

My optimism didn't last long; apparently my waterproofs were not prepared for the weather either. By the end of the day I was a cold, clammy mess. I decided there was no single silver lining to this cloud. 

The end of August was in sight and I began preparing for Reading Festival. Weather forecasts were good, but by this time I had become a complete pessimist. I packed plenty of waterproofs, jumpers and a pair of polka dot wellies. By the time it got to 10am on Friday the sun decided to show its face. Stumbling through the mud carrying more than I could manage, I was in no position to shed any layers (I was wearing four at the time). Ironically, the bank holiday weekend was the hottest in August. As if the music tents weren't sweaty enough, people danced shoulder to shoulder and tried to get as near to the stage as possible. During The Subways' set, I was horrified to find myself standing behind a man wearing a leather jacket. Yes, a thick black leather jacket. As the sun beat down, so did the drops of sweat, straight from his head onto his jacket. It was disgusting. When he finally peeled the leather away from his back his shirt was see-through. It was useless trying to get away form the sodden man, I could barely move.

The rest of the weekend would have been fine if I hadn't forgotten just one thing. Sun block. I rushed into the town centre and bought some bright summery clothes and sunglasses, but forgot the essential lotion. My new blue dress was doing its job in keeping me cool, but my pale skin was now bright pink. I spent the last day in pain and covered myself with a T-shirt to prevent any further burning. It was too little too late. Returning home, sleep-deprived and smelling of camp fires, skin was now peeling on my face, shoulders and chest.

After my disappointing, ill-equipped summer, it appears I'm just as bad as the rest of the British population: totally obsessed. For me, September hasn't come a moment too soon.  All I can do now is book next year's holiday and hope that the sun will shine when I return to Bournemouth. I'll pack my bikini and wellington boots - just to be safe.

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