Summer Seasoning.

As the ‘jumpers’ are thrown away, the trees bare their green proudly and the flowers stop cowering away from the frost and rain to blossom into full colour, summer is on the tip of everyone’s tongue. 

It’s the water cooler conversation du jour; the prospect of sun, outdoor drinks after work, evenings spent lounging in parks; but does it ever really feel like summerhere? 

I’m beginning to wonder if summer in London is merely an illusion, an elaborate creation to get middle class residents through the brutal winter without the expensive tropical escapes to the Mediterranean, and without the fabricated ‘plages’ shipped into the inner city.

The very first time I questioned (and worried about) the English summer I have been hanging out for was when the Celsius scrapped 15 and the central city parks looked like a sunblock giveaway convention in central Ireland; the green grass was barely visible beneath the sea of teeming vitamin D deficient bodies. Yes, the sun was peeking out from between the clouds but the breeze in the air was swinging straight from Iceland and my arms remained safely tucked into my jacket.The beautiful view outside my window as the towering naked winter trees bloomed vibrant and green belied the outdoor reality. With the indoor heating masking nature’s true temperature, I was forgiving my preconceived notions of a frosty English June and was beginning to think the warnings I was given were communicated in vain. The echo of “England doesn’t do summer” and the cynical laugh at its suggestionwas going to be lost in the glare of the sunshine and mild evening picnics.

Well, reality is a bitch and the outdoor chill stung like the falling blossom in your eye. Nature was in the throes of its summer cycle whereas the weather was the troublesome toddler, throwing a tantrum and refusing to follow the rules.

The rare summer days are relished; outdoor pubs fill to bursting and the beer can be heard spilling from clattering jugs long after the sun has set. London receives a normal person’s definition of summer about 7 days in the year (these statistics come from The National Library of Hanna; use with caution) and the city becomes a real life replica of Rapunzel’s bedroom, shut down and trapped from its own making. The heat becomes the sky’s comforter, a blanket that encapsulates the heat and reflects it, a humid intensity fit for a tropical rainforest. Lacking a refreshing escape and instead surrounded by towering brick buildings, the city is bathed in similarities with that of a sauna; a sauna in which the door is locked and the key has been eaten.

The variation of summer in a big city is that unlike Paris, in London you get to take your clothes off. Paradoxically, if you want to take all your clothes off, the beaches of France are your remedy, but if you want to disrobe to a level of comfort for the hot temperatures, head to the English speaking capital. In Paris, wearing shorts and a t-shirt is like eating escargot with your hands or not appreciating a merlot; it is simply not the way du Français. If someone is seen in anything less than a reasonable layer of cover (or a less covered but fashion forward summer style) you can be sure any Parisian will merely assume you are an unaware tourist. Shorts? Singlet?You must be American. (French attitudes to Americans fitnicely with the French outlook to tourists in general).

Reversely, in London if you wear anything more than shorts and a t-shirt (especially if its fashion forward), you can be sure to get a contemptuous raised eyebrow from the Brits. It is July and the temperature is in the double digits; take off a layer. It is easy to spot the English walking down a street in the summer time, not merely because like the stigma surrounding vampires they reflect the sunlight, but they are the ones wearing the least and sweating the most.

When the sun is shining and the layers are discarded; you would think that everyone was on holiday. There are more people on the streets, the parks fill to bursting and the threat of diminishing alcohol at pubs is a very real possibility. But most of all, the highly wrung individuals pacing the pavements, the vigorous pushing to make the tube and the stern, stressed faces occupied by suit wearing office workers all gets lightened and mellowed by the sunshine. The rays illuminate inner happiness, decanting the reports, meetings and stress of the day and awaking the euphoria of the sun.

The sun may not grace the skies of London very often, clouded away by a haze of pollution and ever present rain; but at least when she does appear, she is appreciated. Outdoors becomes a haven of invitation, a sanctuary of freedom and a release from the uptight individual that London can encourage. When the sun arrives, it transforms the city; and the people transform along with it.