I'm convinced the weather has completely lost the plot.
At the moment, it feels like the atmosphere wakes up every morning, spins a giant wheel with "Heatwave", "Monsoon" or "Needing the heating on in July" written on it, then commits wholeheartedly to whatever it lands on. It's got to the point that the three weather apps I have on my phone can't even agree with each other anymore. One is forecasting temperatures hotter than Singapore's; another suggests we'll have a pleasant British summer's day, and the third is telling me to build an ark.
The problem is that none of them seem to know what's actually going on. Even with some of the most advanced weather modelling systems in the world, forecasting seems increasingly difficult. Scientists point towards large-scale climate patterns like El Niño, a naturally occurring warming of parts of the Pacific Ocean that can influence weather around the globe. Combined with a warming climate, it appears to be contributing to increasingly unusual weather extremes.
Take today. Not one of my weather apps forecast the tropical storm that decided to batter the West Country. All morning the sky was a brilliant scorched blue, and the air was warm but pleasant. During the afternoon, however, a wall of darkness appeared on the horizon, approaching like an advancing army. The bright blue sky was swallowed whole, replaced by a boiling canvas of whites, greys and even greens and blacks. The air suddenly felt heavy and electric. Then came the rain, like a wall of water, being driven headlong by the ever-increasing gale-force wind. The sky erupted into a giant light show of seemingly constant strobing, while thunder rolled continuously overhead, echoing off of the surrounding hills. It was really impressive to watch, particularly because I was standing on the patio at the time, getting soaked to the bone whilst enjoying the cool air.
If I'm honest, though, this wild weather is exactly what worries me. As I sit writing this, even though the sun disappeared hours ago, it's still 27 degrees and 80% humidity, which means I'm sitting at my desk writing with a supermarket-spec white plastic fan, desperately trying to circulate enough air around the room to prevent myself from evaporating. People keep saying, "It's just summer," but it's way hotter, and to be honest, I'm increasingly worried that this is summer now.
If these temperatures become the new normal, we're going to have to start thinking differently about how we build and equip our homes. British homes are designed for keeping heat in through our never-ending winters. We've spent generations trying to stop warmth escaping through windows, doors and roofs. I have considered several times buying an air conditioning unit, but mention air conditioning, and people immediately dismiss it. "It's only a few days a year," they say. Maybe. But if those few days are pushing into the mid-thirties, I'd rather have an air conditioner and not need it than need one and not have it.
After all, most people own a Christmas tree despite only using it for a couple of weeks every year. We don't stand there in December asking whether it's cost-effective. We accept that some things are worth having because when the moment arrives, you really want them there. And if British summers continue heading in the direction they're currently travelling, air conditioning might become less of a luxury and more of a survival tool. Or at the very least, a way of sleeping properly.
Temperatures are increasingly pushing into territory that would once have seemed absurd for Britain. Heat warnings are becoming more common, and records that once looked untouchable are now regularly discussed as realistic possibilities. Yet every time somebody raises concerns, the response is usually the same. "It's just summer." Even winter seems warmer; we had maybe half a dozen frosty mornings at the start of the year, and we haven't seen heavy snow in this part of the country for years.
This year it doesn't feel like just summer. It feels like something more. Last week we had driving rain, strong winds and temperatures hovering around 18 degrees. Go back a little further and we'd bounced from the year's first heatwave straight back to putting the heating on. Then, almost overnight, the thermostat launched itself towards the ceiling again. We don't seem to have seasons anymore. We have weather-mood swings.