Weather Saturday May 21, 2005
There’s a lovely section in one of Bill Bryson’s books, when he compares the British and US temperaments. When faced with a second helping of a tasty dessert we say ‘ooh, go on then’, luxuriating in guilty pleasure when the average American will guzzle it down unthinkingly because he lives, according to Bill, as if life is designed to fulfill his desires. US Tennis star John McEenroe likes us Brits, and thinks he has something to teach us: how to have healthy self belief and a rewarding competitive spirit. But we actually enjoy, he says, being a self-deprecating second best.
I blame the weather. When the sun shines, the Lake District is an idyllic place to explore, or just to lie down in some grass on a peaceful hill or beside some water. But of course it exemplifies a general British trend, that sunshine is both unpredictable and relatively rare. I once exchanged a few words with a lone angler up in the Eskdale fells, who remarked that it had “turned out nice�? when the skies were a dense and uniform grey. What he meant was, it wasn’t windy or bucketing down with rain, and the temperature was distinctly cool, but not cold. On another occasion I discussed the prospect for the day with a continental visitor, as she served me breakfast at an Eskdale inn. I mumbled something about impending sunshine and she replied, eyes twinkling, that she was “not so optimistic�?. She’d noticed our stoic positive thinking, our survival strategy against likely adversity, the likely preponderance of grey, grey, grey. If you want to get out and do some walking you have to muster up some hope for a reasonable day, or you would stay in bed and read a book or watch TV. But my optimism was misplaced, and the brief sunny interlude was no more than an enticing taste of what could be, but rarely is. She knew that.
When the sun does shine we spend more time outdoors, even in a city, and our disposition improves. You see people smiling and enjoying themselves, and everyone feels better as the feel-good hormones are at last coming to life, after interminable periods of pituitary sleep. And rather pathetically we respond like this with just mild sunlight, and the chance to discard only a jumper, but not to replace a shirt for a tee shirt. We live on moderate meteorological treats, grateful for occasional enjoyment, because we know we can’t hope for anything more.
I despair sometimes, as with the summer of 2004, the wettest on record and thus the greyest skies we’ve seen for the one period when hope has some basis. In southern Europe and some parts of the US, sunlight and warmth are a guaranteed form of nourishment. Look at people’s photoblogs and you see smiling people wearing tee shirts and shorts, and beautiful blue skies. Happy people, with bubbling pituitary glands and smooth blood flow, unimpeded by the muscular tensions fighting against cold and rain. How can you emphasise this enough: the quality of life is significantly better when you see the sun shining, and how dreary it is when you don’t. I hate it.
And yet, it’s hard work but there are some advantages to an Atlantic, maritime climate. A Sicilian friend once said the grey sky was “nice”, because it was gentle; you weren’t struggling against fierce heat so you could be more industrious. Back home you had to shelter in shady interiors, and the siesta was a daily necessity. I doubt if Britain would have been the important cultural force it was, if our recent ancestors had taken a snooze every afternoon. Our political, economic and cultural impact is now less distinct, but still significant. For a small Atlantic promontory, Britain has had a remarkable impact on the world. That doesn’t make us happy, compared to the average southern European. But it could be worse, the grass is always greener, Scandinavia is much darker, etc etc. I revert to stoic British optimism, our characteristic defense against adverse conditions: keep your chin up, stiff upper lip, the plucky Dunkirk spirit. Frankly, I would exchange all that dreary masochism for the sunny outdoors kind of life that I see in Spain, Greece or Italy. I don’t care that the British temperament has a productive psychological tension, interminably poised against inevitable cold and rain, that makes us appreciate small pleasures with disproportionate relish. Bryson joked that he adopted this attitude himself and as a result found life immeasurably more satisfying, when a simple cup of tea provokes the rapturous appreciation ‘ooh, that’s lovely’ and a cream cake is irredeemably naughty but nice. I would swap it in an instant for a sunnier climate where people may not achieve so much, but that is because they are sitting with friends at outdoors cafés, wearing sunglasses and sipping cool drinks. Life is better, and who cares that Spain, Greece or Italy doesn’t have the international political presence or economic influence of the UK. They’ve got better things to do, like sit in the sun with cool drinks.
Mountaineer Chris Bonnington lives in the Lake District, and once remarked that it equals any mountainous place in the world. However this comment perfectly exemplifies the British stoicism that I have referred to: you don’t have to justify the Alps, or the Pyrenees, or the Californian Sierra Nevada. Everyone knows they are magnificent, wonderful areas. But the Lake District? Doesn’t it rain all the time? Well yes it does, for much of the time anyway. One of the valleys statistically has the highest rainfall in the country. So you have to make an effort to appreciate Lakeland, in relation to the mountains in other countries. I love the Lake District, but…for…fuck..sake…I also love the sun.
But, I remind myself, it can be delightful, and the sun might burn through that thick grey blanket – look, there it is! And photographically speaking, sombre pictures have their own powerful beauty. Well, it could be worse anyway.
