Blue skies and 22 degrees

The last few days in the UK we have had a heatwave. (There's some faffing about in high places in the Met Office, and a few chickens have to be sacrificed, or something, before it's officially a heatwave, but I was there. I can tell you, that was a heatwave.)

So what happens? First of all we're told that we're inches away from death because we're not used to the heat. Some say this doesn't make a lot of sense, because millions jet off to this kind of weather every year and survive very nicely, apart from sunburn and stomach upsets. But when you're on holiday you slow down. The danger seems to be mostly from rushing around in work mode in the heat - and that makes sense. Second, we complain. It's too hot. You can't work. You can't concentrate.

Now zoom back in time to the last couple of summers, which have been practically non-existent in the UK. What happened then? Well, we were warned of the dangers of flooding. We probably had a hosepipe ban. And everyone moaned. 'We don't get summers anymore,' they said. 'This weather's terrible.'

I have come to the conclusion that in the UK we are only happy with the weather if there are blue skies and it's 22 degrees Celsius or thereabouts. As it happens, this morning is much like that here. So for the next hour or so, I'm going to be happy. After that I'll get back to some serious moaning.