Jul 27, 2024 09:22 PM IST
A glimpse of a sunny summer day in Britain, with London warmer than Delhi, ice cream in the park, and the joy of a British countryside pub.
On a hot, sunny summer day, there’s no country to beat Britain. Not just the weather, but the place itself feels transformed. Actually, idyllic. Like lambs frolicking in a field, the natives flock to London’s parks, where they play and gambol in the sunshine, the men usually in shorts and often stripped to the waist — whilst the women could be even more scantily clad — and both sexes oblivious of the world around them.
Thus it was last Friday, after weeks of blustery rain. According to Google, London was warmer than Delhi. At 5pm, it was 32 degrees in St James’s Park. At the same time, in Safdarjung, it was only 29. It’s the sort of detail that can bring a cheery smile to the most stiff upper-lipped of British faces.
The paradoxical truth is you feel the heat a lot more in London. That’s why memories of grey skies, persistent drizzle and sodden pavements can vanish in minutes. If you’re shopping on Regents Street or Bond Street, the blazing sun feels scorching. The heat radiates off the roads and the grand buildings, trapping you in its stifling embrace.
Indoors is breathless. No matter how many windows you open, the incoming wind doesn’t seem to cool you. No matter how little you wear, it still feels as if you have put on too much. And, anyway, who wants to stay in when the sky is a clear bright blue, without even a hint of a wispy cloud. It looks like a Constable or Turner painting come alive.
In Holland Park, a long stone’s throw from where I was staying, there was an unceasing crowd around the ice-cream van. On the grounds, there were carefree couples picnicking in whatever shade they could find. And everywhere, there were children laughing and playing, the merry ring of their mirth echoing across the green grass.
In the English countryside, with hedgerows in brilliant blossom, verdant fields stretch as far as the eye can see on either side. Look more closely and you can spot the young plucking strawberries. Fresh punnets are on sale everywhere. With cream and a spot of caster sugar, strawberries are a British summer delight.
The other countryside pleasure is a visit to a village pub. A pint of bitters — the Brits are not lager drinkers — and a few crisps in the courtyard, as the wind picks up and tussles your hair, is an unforgettable experience. Chances are you’ll want it to continue and never end.
Was it Coleridge or was it Browning — Google suggests it could have been either or both — who first said, ’Oh to be in England now that spring is here?’ Actually, summer is a better time. But you can forgive the Brits for mixing up the two. A good summer in Blighty can be rare. Till last Friday, it seemed this year, there wouldn’t be one.
My hosts that evening wanted their guests to sip champagne on the lawns of Ennismore Gardens, where they live. As the day cools, it can feel like paradise to be out in a garden in the golden evening light. But, alas, the desis amongst us, unaccustomed to such pleasures, preferred to stay indoors. It brought home to me a subtle but telling difference between the Brits and us. They revel in the sun. They want as much of it as they can get. Even if it’s blistering hot. We shelter from it. We prefer air conditioners to the fresh summer air.
The next morning, summer was over. The clouds were back, the rain had begun, and jerseys were starting to replace shorts. Outdoors, brolleys had taken the place of reverse baseball caps. No doubt, Blighty might see another warm sunny day, but it could be weeks away. By then, autumn may be breathing its chill blasts down uncovered necks. Which is why I’m so glad I was there on that one day of summer.
Karan Thapar is the author of Devil’s Advocate: The Untold Story.The views expressed are personal
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