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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/aug/29/good-riddance-to-summer-un-british-season-t-shirts-false-jollity-autumn-misanthropy
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| Good riddance to summer, a thoroughly un-British season | |
| (35 minutes later) | |
| The British don’t really do summer. It’s not necessarily that we don’t want to, but temperamentally we are autumnal, northern souls, and the imminent return of autumn is as welcoming as a comfortable old coat. For it means that we can finally ditch the pretence that we enjoy summer and its enforced, ersatz fun in the sun for another year. | The British don’t really do summer. It’s not necessarily that we don’t want to, but temperamentally we are autumnal, northern souls, and the imminent return of autumn is as welcoming as a comfortable old coat. For it means that we can finally ditch the pretence that we enjoy summer and its enforced, ersatz fun in the sun for another year. |
| Our collective folk memory of childhood summers unhelpfully filters out the crushing boredom of six weeks off school and hoodwinks us into thinking that summer is a time of halcyon days, endless blue skies and carefree living. In short, it makes us think that every summer should be like 1976. | Our collective folk memory of childhood summers unhelpfully filters out the crushing boredom of six weeks off school and hoodwinks us into thinking that summer is a time of halcyon days, endless blue skies and carefree living. In short, it makes us think that every summer should be like 1976. |
| The truth is somewhat different, of course. For instance, we conveniently forget that the summer of 76 produced both droughts and a record number of wasps that plagued picnics, ruined days at the beach and made walks in the countryside unbearable. | The truth is somewhat different, of course. For instance, we conveniently forget that the summer of 76 produced both droughts and a record number of wasps that plagued picnics, ruined days at the beach and made walks in the countryside unbearable. |
| Summer tends to bring out the worst in us. Everybody is angry, tense, uptight. The mere thought of spending more time with the kids is exhausting, and as for a relaxing holiday – forget it. The beaches are rammed and many of us can no longer afford to go abroad anymore. | Summer tends to bring out the worst in us. Everybody is angry, tense, uptight. The mere thought of spending more time with the kids is exhausting, and as for a relaxing holiday – forget it. The beaches are rammed and many of us can no longer afford to go abroad anymore. |
| It’s a season that is always fraught with difficulty – it’s there in the terrible heat, the unseasonal cold, the insects, the idiot neighbours making a nuisance of themselves in their gardens when you’re outside trying to have a quiet fag; the macho, Freudian anxiety about the size of our barbecues, not to mention the utter futility of mowing the lawn. And when it comes to dressing for the summer, well, apart from celebrities, none of the rest of us really know how to do it. | It’s a season that is always fraught with difficulty – it’s there in the terrible heat, the unseasonal cold, the insects, the idiot neighbours making a nuisance of themselves in their gardens when you’re outside trying to have a quiet fag; the macho, Freudian anxiety about the size of our barbecues, not to mention the utter futility of mowing the lawn. And when it comes to dressing for the summer, well, apart from celebrities, none of the rest of us really know how to do it. |
| The terrible heat, the insects, the idiot neighbours in their gardens when you’re outside trying to have a quiet fag | The terrible heat, the insects, the idiot neighbours in their gardens when you’re outside trying to have a quiet fag |
| There is a bewildering hell to wondering what on earth to wear in the sun that might, in a certain light and at a particular angle, disguise the middle-aged paunch and incongruously spindly arms of many of my male peers. This is compounded on a daily basis by photos in the media of unfeasibly beautiful and elegant people swanning around somewhere nice in gorgeous clothes we couldn’t begin to get away with, let alone afford, as we sweat and squeeze into garish, ill-fitting T-shirts or pastel polos. And as for shorts, well, I’m not even going to go there. | There is a bewildering hell to wondering what on earth to wear in the sun that might, in a certain light and at a particular angle, disguise the middle-aged paunch and incongruously spindly arms of many of my male peers. This is compounded on a daily basis by photos in the media of unfeasibly beautiful and elegant people swanning around somewhere nice in gorgeous clothes we couldn’t begin to get away with, let alone afford, as we sweat and squeeze into garish, ill-fitting T-shirts or pastel polos. And as for shorts, well, I’m not even going to go there. |
| It’s no coincidence that we struggle with summer’s cafe culture. We can try to convince ourselves that lounging around at plastic tables on pavements swigging pinot grigio by the bottle is the height of continental sophistication, but we are essentially pub people. Pubs speak more to our nature, with their innate miserabilism, beery whiff and tacky decor. Pubs are essentially autumnal, and that’s why we feel more at home in them. | It’s no coincidence that we struggle with summer’s cafe culture. We can try to convince ourselves that lounging around at plastic tables on pavements swigging pinot grigio by the bottle is the height of continental sophistication, but we are essentially pub people. Pubs speak more to our nature, with their innate miserabilism, beery whiff and tacky decor. Pubs are essentially autumnal, and that’s why we feel more at home in them. |
| So let’s not mourn the passing of the season; instead, let’s look forward to the onset of autumn, when we can get back to who we really are and indulge our gentle misanthropy. Autumn is when we can metaphorically undo our top button and slam the door shut behind us as we hunker down and look forward to nothing very much at all. Hats, jumpers, scarves, coats, boots – these are the order of the day; we no longer have to worry about being publicly vilified for sagging skin and thinning hair, our middle-aged spread or varicose veins. We don’t have to make plans; the kids are back at school, thank God, the garden can go to hell for six months and the only contact with the neighbours is a terse nod as we defrost the car on a crisp morning and feel the autumn blowing in at last. | So let’s not mourn the passing of the season; instead, let’s look forward to the onset of autumn, when we can get back to who we really are and indulge our gentle misanthropy. Autumn is when we can metaphorically undo our top button and slam the door shut behind us as we hunker down and look forward to nothing very much at all. Hats, jumpers, scarves, coats, boots – these are the order of the day; we no longer have to worry about being publicly vilified for sagging skin and thinning hair, our middle-aged spread or varicose veins. We don’t have to make plans; the kids are back at school, thank God, the garden can go to hell for six months and the only contact with the neighbours is a terse nod as we defrost the car on a crisp morning and feel the autumn blowing in at last. |
| Autumn is a time for reflection; it lets us wallow in its peculiar melancholy and enjoy the simple pleasures of a skein of geese across the deeper blue of its skies. The dizzying displays of arboreal colours that trash the bland monochrome of summer bring us a feeling, however fleeting, that we are somehow closer to nature, as well as a sense of grateful respite from the soul-sucking awfulness of summertime. And I for one can’t wait. | Autumn is a time for reflection; it lets us wallow in its peculiar melancholy and enjoy the simple pleasures of a skein of geese across the deeper blue of its skies. The dizzying displays of arboreal colours that trash the bland monochrome of summer bring us a feeling, however fleeting, that we are somehow closer to nature, as well as a sense of grateful respite from the soul-sucking awfulness of summertime. And I for one can’t wait. |