"I like it hot... but not this hot". This is a phrase that, to ordinary people with ordinary brains, makes no sense. It's a phrase up there with "I'm not a racist but..." as far as I'm concerned and chances are, over the last few days, you've probably heard it six million and forty two times if you live in Great Britain.
It's summer in Britain, if you didn't know. If you're not from here - allow me to explain the concept of the "Great British Summer". People often romanticise about the beauty of this isle between June and August. They'll tell you about the vivacious display of colours and scents hurtling into your eyes and nose simultaneously. They'll enthuse about sipping Pimms out of a champagne flute as they enjoy a delightful bowl of strawberries and cream in front of the BBC's coverage of the third round of Wimbledon. They'll describe, at great length, how the sunsets cannot be bested by anywhere else on the planet - yes, they will convince you that living in Britain during the summer months is heaven. They'll probably leave out the bit about how it's "too hot" for them.
It's a strange conundrum - everyone in Britain will tell you that they love the heat. They love how the sun kisses their flabby, pasty skin, they love how the bumblebees merrily dance from plant to plant, they'll even tell you how much they love sitting in a deck chair on the pier of some grotesque seaside town - but if you catch them at their workstation, you better be ready for the moaning.
No sooner has the mercury (they still use mercury don't they?) tipped twenty five degrees, these people will forget all about the ice-cream that they gleefully smashed into their face hole minutes earlier, and they'll begin to turn on the sun. Not the newspaper - but it's funny I should bring that up (and not at all planned), because The Sun do a lot of their best (worst) work during the two day heatwave season.
They'll take photographs of butter faced "beauties" in bikinis paddling in the grim, toxic waters of Bournemouth beaches, they'll make awful heat based puns and they'll commit the most heinous of journalistic crimes - the "hotter than Spain" headline. See, they understand that the average Briton can only comprehend something if they're given a comparison. We're much too brain dead to fathom the intricacies of "twenty five degrees celsius" but put the word "Spain" in there - now we're talking. Why? Well Spain is hot, in case you didn't already know, so if we're hotter than Spain then that means... Britain must be hotter than the sun.
They never specify where in Spain though, which I they probably should in order to give Joe Public some sort of reference point - I went to Barcelona once and it was fucking freezing. From my experience (and therefore I assume everyone else's), it's always hotter here than it is in Spain. Granted I did go in November, and I did, rather optimistically, take shorts - but my point is surely still valid... and why did you take shorts I hear you ask. Simple. The only knowledge I had of Spain's climate came from these bastard headlines.
So there I am, the middle of November, wandering around Barcelona dressed like Dennis the Menace while other, much more experienced Barcelona people (AKA residents) are in their coats, hats and gloves. I was up shit creek without a paddle and I fully blame The Sun for this... not the sun in the sky though, which I should probably go back to talking about because this nonsense has gone off the rails.
The conversations about how hot it is, and how little people care for it will only last roughly a week - there's rain forecast for next week, which gives these people something else to complain about. It's a viscous circle of stupidity, because there is ultimately no pleasing these people. You could cartwheel into their living room, smile on your face with a million pounds in cash for them and they'd still complain that you're standing in the way of whatever reality TV drivel they're absorbing. It's very important that you get out of the way, they'll tell you, as they need to prepare their opinions - ready to spew at some unsuspecting twat like me the next day. I'll sit there and listen too, like the glutton for punishment that I am. Speaking of glutton for punishment - well done on finishing this article. You're welcome to leave now, it's over.