The English have always had a curious relationship with certainty. Being both English and rarely seen without a bowler hat, I feel honour-bound to uphold certain traditions. For instance, my cultural roots tell me that there is a great deal of apologising to be done for no particular reason. This lack of certainty is particularly tested when it comes to predicting the weather.
For the English, summer occupies a place in the imagination where the ideal never quite existed. We hope for summer. We romanticise its gloriousness. The picnic basket is waiting patiently in the shadows of the shed. But when the season actually arrives, conversation is littered with phrases akin to “contingency plan”, “wet weather gear” and “make sure the gazebo is up”.
However, as the world continues to turn, something is changing.
An English summer is no longer a happy accident.
If you are truly English, the fear that prolonged sunlight might suddenly disappear always lingers somewhere in the back of the mind. Next year could require jumpers in June and sou’westers in August, but recent times have demonstrated that the dream summer can almost be relied upon. Who’d have thunk?
Long hot days are no longer the stuff of children’s literature, but something that we can expect. Preparations need to be made.
What has fascinated me of late, is not the number on the thermometer, but how this new reality is reshaping summer entertaining.
The venues are becoming more and more confident with their outdoor spaces. Hotel terraces are now destinations, rather than a skulking place for the smokers. French windows are entrances more than they are exits. Parasols are huge, garden chairs are genuinely comfortable, garden lighting is expected to be practical rather than just pretty.
The English garden has acquired function as well as form.
Itineraries have also evolved. Drinks receptions last longer. The invitation announcing dinner-time starts conversations about Iberian meal customs. After dessert, conversation elongates as the warmth continues to midnight and beyond. Our grandparents were calling for cardigans. We are hoping that the Pimm’s is still chilled.
Sartorial choices are also more delicate. The creases of a linen jacket are forgiven. Bare arms are allowed. Whilst the English used to be defined by their determination to dress formally for dinner, the need to find some elasticity in the rules is creating new looks, new customs. We find it quite shocking to adjust to a dress code in a country that is not always damp.
Such decisions have also been taxing yours truly.
I get many comments whilst performing on the hottest of days asking whether a hard, felt hat is causing me discomfort. I admit that the temptation to exchange it for a Panama certainly flits across my mind, but old habits die hard. And, surprisingly, it does have its advantages in the heat. The brim gives me excellent accidental shade and I have no need of sunscreen during a picnic engagement. Furthermore, those who mock wearing a three piece wool suit in summer need to meet my tailor. The quality of the build and material of my suits is such that it is far more comfortable in extremes than usual shop-bought attire. Unless I was performing in shorts and T-shirt (unthinkable for any self respecting English gentleman!) there are few things I would choose to be in rather than one of my suits. There has only been one occasion this record-breaking summer where I had to perform without a jacket. However, the waistcoat stayed.
I would not choose to perform in 34 degree heat. I have a rule at home that if the temperature rises above 28 degrees, then I am allowed to do only those things I want to do, and can ignore all of the things that I should do. However, if I have one overwhelming bugbear about performing during this new British tropical season, it is those venues where I move continually between outdoor and indoor performance.. Switching between sweltering and chilly can make my head spin and my playing cards warp!
The status symbol of the 2030s may not be a swimming pool, but a house that remains at 21°C through August. The entire history of British architecture has been an attempt to keep the warmth in. Future generations might have to build for the opposite. Meantime, we will hold parties in places that do not quite know how to deal with this fluctuation. And it is in these moments where the beads of perspiration will make themselves known on the back of my neck.
Of course, this is all flummery to the serious consequences of a changing climate and the response and responsibilities that are required from all. However, from my position in the centre of hospitality, I have been intrigued by the unintended minor consequences of these extraordinary summers. Generational habits that are being broken. Customs that evolve. The continuing rewriting of a nation’s character.
We have always talked about the weather because it can be relied upon to be unreliable.
What if that no longer holds true? What will small talk consist of?
I shall have to talk about my latest hat.