London, sweating and irritable, is once again instructed on how to survive a few days of unusual weather. The Met Office, never one to let a bit of sun go without bureaucratic fanfare, has issued new guidance for the vulnerable. It seems the British state cannot trust its citizens to drink water, stay in the shade, or simply use common sense.
As the mercury climbs, we are treated to the same ritual panic that accompanies every seasonal variation. This is the empire that once ruled a quarter of the world, now reduced to issuing tips on how to use a fan. The heatwave has become a test of national character, and we are failing.
The very notion of vulnerability is a modern invention, a category that allows the state to infantilise the populace. In Victorian times, a heatwave was a nuisance; today, it is a crisis. We have swapped stoicism for sensationalism, resilience for risk assessment.
The Met Office's advice is sound: drink water, avoid alcohol, close curtains. But the underlying message is not about heat. It is about control.
Every public health announcement chips away at the idea that we can manage our own lives. The heatwave is a metaphor for a society that has lost its nerve. While our ancestors endured real hardships without daily guidance, we require a government agency to tell us not to leave children in cars.
Enough. Turn off the television. Open a window.
Drink a glass of water. And for heaven's sake, stop treating the sun like an invader.
