In news that has made even the most ardent sunbather reassess their life choices, Europe has officially become a giant gas mark 6. German thermometers, never ones to exaggerate, have shattered under the strain of a new record: 41.3 degrees Celsius in Duisburg. That’s not just hot. That’s ‘the Devil’s sauna after a bad curry’ hot. Meanwhile, the United Kingdom, a nation that collectively faints at the sight of a cloudless sky, has put its hospitals on high alert. Because nothing says ‘efficient health service’ like preparing for a crisis you saw coming since the last Ice Age.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t weather. This is a full-blown, heat-induced existential crisis. The sort of thing that makes you wonder if we’ve finally annoyed the sun into a personal vendetta. The German record, previously held by some town called Kitzingen in 2015 (a modest 40.3), has been obliterated. Now, the good people of Duisburg can boast about something other than their steel production and traffic jams. But at what cost? At the cost of selling your soul for a breeze.
And what of the National Health Service? The same NHS that has been running on paracetamol and goodwill for decades. Now it’s on ‘heatwave alert’. This means they’ve put out extra bowls of water for the paramedics and told everyone to hydrate. I imagine the emergency protocol involves a lot of flapping and vague pointing at the nearest fan. The British psyche is not built for this. We are a nation of mild drizzle, queueing, and lukewarm tea. 35 degrees in London is not a heatwave. It’s a dress rehearsal for the apocalypse.
The real scandal, of course, is that this heatwave is entirely our own doing. We have roasted our planet, and now we’re surprised it’s fighting back. The government, in their infinite wisdom, has advised us to ‘stay cool’ and ‘look out for the elderly’. As if the elderly don’t already look out for themselves with a strict regimen of Werther's Originals and Radio 4. They didn’t mention the obvious solution: stop burning fossil fuels. But that would be bad for business, and you can’t put a price on not turning your population into sweaty puddings.
So here we are. A continent of sweating masses, hospital workers on the brink, and a record number of complaints about the lack of air conditioning on the Tube. The only thing more broken than the thermometer is our collective will to change. But at least the gin is still cold. Cheers.
