History was made yesterday, not in a museum but on a thermometer, as Portugal shattered its hottest May record with a mercury-popping 36.9 degrees in the shade. As the Iberian Peninsula sizzled like a chorizo on a griddle, Britain's vaunted 'heatwave resilience plan' was revealed for what it truly is: a slightly damp tissue in a furnace.
Let me paint you a picture of this resilience. The plan, unveiled with great fanfare by a minor minister who looked like he'd just discovered the concept of summer, consists mainly of urging people to 'stay hydrated' and 'check on elderly relatives.' Revolutionary. I'm surprised they didn't include 'try not to combust.' Meanwhile, in Portugal, they're splashing in fountains while our government drafts a memo on the importance of hats.
The irony is staggering. We've had wet summers for a decade, so the moment a real heatwave appears, we act like we've discovered fire. The trains will fail, the rails will buckle, and the tabloids will scream about 'barbecue Britain' while the NHS preps for heatstroke patients. A nation that panics at a flake of snow now has a 'resilience plan' that reads like a Post-it note.
This is the same government that privatised the weather, I swear. They've outsourced meteorological competence to offshore accounts. The Portuguese, at least, have the decency to embrace the heat with a glass of vinho verde. We'll be queuing for Mr. Whippy while radiation burns our scalps.
So, as the sun turns Portugal into a giant pastel de nata, remember: Britain's resilience plan is not a plan. It's a mirage. A shimmering, heat-damaged delusion that if we ignore the 40-degree forecasts, they'll just go away. They won't. Neither will the gin shortage I'm now predicting. Stay cool, you sweaty bastards.
