In a development that has sent meteorologists into a frenzy of perspiration and politicians into a frenzy of self-congratulation, Europe has finally achieved what generations of war and diplomacy could not: a unified, sweaty blobby mass of continental misery. The heatwave of the century (or at least until next Tuesday) has shattered German thermometers, causing the Deutsche Bahn to run on time only because the tracks have warped into a single, continuous loop to nowhere. Meanwhile, in a stunning display of cognitive dissonance, the UK public health system has been praised for its resilience, presumably because it hasn't yet melted into a puddle of waiting lists and lukewarm tea.
Let us examine this farce with the sober precision of a man who has consumed three G&Ts before breakfast. The German record, a municipal reading of 41.2 degrees Celsius in the sleepy hamlet of Lingen, was broken not by a higher temperature but by the collective sigh of 80 million people realising that their air-conditioning units are as efficient as a wet sock. Panic buying of ice cream led to a shortage of vanilla, causing a national identity crisis. Meanwhile, the UK's response has been to deploy a fleet of ambulances shaped like teapots, each staffed by a single, heroic NHS employee armed with a fan and a stiff upper lip.
'Our systems are robust,' declared a government spokesman, fanning himself with a copy of the Conservative manifesto. 'We have prepared for this by stockpiling sun cream and pretending the heat doesn't exist. The NHS, as always, is the envy of the world.' Indeed, while German hospitals filled with cases of heatstroke and existential despair, British doctors valiantly treated patients for the common complaint of 'it's too bloody hot' by recommending a cup of sweet tea and a lie-down. The waiting list for this treatment is currently seven hours, which is still shorter than the queue for a cold pint at a gastropub.
The real winner here is the British media, which has managed to turn a weather event into a morality play about national character. 'We may be hot,' the headlines scream, 'but at least we're not German.' Never mind that Berlin has more public swimming pools than London has functioning tap water. Never mind that the German government has actually declared a state of emergency, while ours has declared a bank holiday for the 'Great British Barbecue Day.' The resilience of the NHS is a myth propagated by people who have never tried to get a doctor's appointment in August, but who are we to stand in the way of a good story?
As I write this, my laptop is melting into a puddle of silicon and regret. The gin in my glass has evaporated, leaving only a faint, hopeful scent. The heatwave continues, a metaphor for the slow, inexorable boiling of our collective future. But fear not, gentle reader: the British spirit, much like the Thames, will remain stubbornly, uncomfortably warm, and vaguely brown. And the NHS? It will soldier on, a beacon of hope in a world gone limp, until the next heatwave, or the next pandemic, or the next Brexit-related shortage of ice. Because that's what we do: we cope, we queue, and we complain. And then we call it resilience.
