The great Germanic experiment in weather moderation has catastrophically failed. As temperatures shattered all records across Germany, Denmark, and the Czech Republic, meteorologists were seen weeping into their steins of warm lager, their almanacks reduced to ash. The heatwave, described by one visibly liquefying expert as 'biblically inappropriate,' has turned the region into a vast, sweaty metaphor for climate collapse.
In Berlin, the Reichstag's glass dome has become a giant magnifying glass, crisping politicians as they bicker about carbon credits. Danish wind turbines have stopped spinning, their blades drooping like the spirits of Vikings forced to sunbathe. In Prague, the famous Astronomical Clock has melted into a Dali-esque puddle, its mechanical apostles now lying in a sticky heap, still pointing at the wrong time.
The Czech prime minister, sweat dripping from his jowls, declared a state of 'weather emergency' and blamed it on the EU's dairy policy. Citizens have been advised to stay indoors, but the indoor temperature is 44 degrees, so they have instead resorted to living in their fridges, a move that has caused a nationwide shortage of pickled herring. Meanwhile, the British PM has offered 'thoughts and prayers' from his air-conditioned bunker, a gesture universally dismissed as lukewarm tap water.
The real crisis, however, is the gin shortage. I have personally verified that all airport lounges from Hamburg to Brno have run out of Fever-Tree tonic, leaving business class passengers to drink their G&Ts with sparkling water, a tragedy of unspeakable proportions. As the continent bakes, one question remains: is this the apocalypse, or just a very hot Tuesday?
I suspect the former, but I'm willing to be bribed with ice cubes. Reporting from the edge of my sanity, Barnaby 'Biff' Thistlethwaite.
