It is a curious kind of privilege: to watch a heatwave from behind a window, rain streaking the glass, feeling vaguely guilty and relieved in equal measure. In Germany, Denmark and the Czech Republic, thermometers are breaking records. People are collapsing in city squares. Trees are dropping their leaves early, confused by the dry heat. In the UK, meanwhile, we are having a damp, underwhelming August. The infrastructure is holding firm, but the triumph feels hollow, tinged with survivor's guilt.
I spoke to Anna, a market trader from Cologne, who described a 'silent panic' in her street. The air was thick and yellow, she said. Her elderly neighbour was hospitalised for dehydration. The trains ran late because the tracks buckled. The phrase 'infrastructure holds firm' sounds like a victory, but it is a race. Our Victorian sewers and ageing water mains creak. We simply have not been tested yet.
The social psychology of this moment is a study in comparative suffering. The British public, ever cheerful in mild adversity, suddenly finds itself in an unfamiliar position: the dry, cool friend at a party where everyone is sweating. There is a faint air of smugness. 'At least it is not a heatwave,' people say, clutching their umbrellas. But the relief is fleeting. We know, deep down, that our turn will come. The climate does not do favours.
Class dynamics are sharpening here. In Germany, air conditioning is rare. Middle-class families scramble for portable units, which sell out in hours. In Denmark, the government has issued public cooling centres. The Czech Republic sees a run on fans and ice cream. The heatwave is a great equaliser, but also a magnifier of inequality. Those with money can escape to air-conditioned cars or lakes. The poor swelter in concrete blocks.
What of the cultural shift? Northern Europe has long defined itself as temperate. Cool, reserved, efficient. A heatwave strips away that facade. People become slower, more irritable. The German efficiency falters. The Danish hygge becomes uncomfortable. We are all adapting to a new normal, one where the weather becomes a source of anxiety rather than a pleasant topic for small talk.
The UK's non-heatwave is a strange reprieve. But as I watch the rain, I wonder how long we will hold out. Our infrastructure is creaking, not robust. Our psyche is fragile. This is not a story about one hot week. It is a story about the changing baseline of normal, and how we will all eventually face the heat.
