I’ve just got back to Ibiza after a few days in the UK. The plan was simple: watch some cricket, catch up with family and friends, then head back to the White Isle.
To my surprise it was hotter in the UK than Ibiza. Now, that sounds like a dream but believe me it wasn’t.
Ibiza and the UK have something in common. Neither has a clue what to do when the weather steps outside its comfort zone.
Give Ibiza a bit of rain and the roads become rivers, traffic grinds to a halt, houses leak like sieves and everyone acts like they’ve just witnessed a biblical event.
Give Britain 35°C and the entire country collectively loses its mind. Schools close because classrooms become ovens. Trains are cancelled because apparently steel rails have trust issues. Offices become sweatboxes because air conditioning is still considered some sort of American luxury. Every pub beer garden is packed with people whose skin has turned fifty shades of lobster.
And let’s not forget the fashion. Brits have approximately three days a year to wear shorts, so every pair ever purchased since 1998 suddenly makes an appearance. Hawaiian shirts emerge from wardrobes, flip-flops are worn into supermarkets and there’s always one bloke who decides the local Tesco is an acceptable place to wander around without a shirt. Spoiler alert: It isn’t.
The irony is brilliant. People spend thousands flying to Ibiza every summer chasing sunshine, yet the moment the UK actually gets some, the country starts melting faster than an ice cream in Benidorm.
Maybe that’s just how we’re wired. Ibiza was built for heat. The UK was built for drizzle. Swap the weather around and both places descend into glorious chaos.
