Hold my gin, readers, for the continent has gone full Satan’s sauna. Germany, Denmark, and the Czech Republic are currently experiencing heatwaves so apocalyptic that even the polar bears are booking holidays to Tenerife. Records are not merely broken, they are shattered into a million sweaty pieces, and the British Met Office, ever the party pooper, has issued a warning to anyone daft enough to leave the pub.
Apparently, “extreme heat” will cause “travel disruption” and “health risks.” Well, slap my thigh with a cucumber sandwich, I never knew sunburn was a health risk. Next they’ll be telling us that drinking gin in the garden is bad for our livers.
The sheer cheek of it. Meanwhile, our European cousins are literally melting into puddles of bratwurst and Carlsberg. In Berlin, the U-Bahn has become a mobile crematorium, and in Copenhagen, the Little Mermaid is now a medium-rare fillet.
The Czechs, being Czechs, have responded by drinking more beer, which is the only sensible response. But let’s not dwell on their suffering. Let’s focus on the real tragedy: the British public’s inability to cope with weather that doesn’t involve drizzle.
The Met Office, in its infinite wisdom, has advised us to “stay hydrated” and “avoid the sun between 11am and 3pm.” Revolutionary stuff. I suppose next they’ll recommend not setting fire to yourself or breathing underwater.
The sheer condescension. As a professional drinker and amateur meteorologist, I have a better solution: fill a paddling pool with gin and tonics, sit in it, and never leave. But no, we must listen to the suits.
So here’s your warning: do not travel to continental Europe unless you fancy being a human casserole. And if you must, pack a parasol, a flamethrower, and a very large bottle of sunscreen. As for me, I’ll be in the garden, sweating gin and contemplating the futility of existence.
Cheers.
