Have you ever tried dating in a British heatwave? Well don’t. Just don’t. It is grim and clammy out here, take it from a woman who has tried. If you are in a long-term relationship where you are both happy to just sweat all over each other, as yet another scorcher beats down upon our sticky, damp bodies, well bully for you. But that is a privilege myself and my fellow singletons can only dream of. In fact, things have gotten so bad, I am taking my loins off the meat market until the weather cools down a few degrees, lest they get charred in the process. I just can’t take it anymore.
And I don’t want to hear it from those in hotter countries. Britain is not made for the heat. Whereas other nations see a hot summer coming a mile off and plan accordingly, we seem to be still in denial about the thermometer inching ever upwards year upon year. We still think of ourselves as a cold country and act surprised when we are caught in the blast of yet another 35ºC plus screamer. “Hot enough for ya?” we shout to each other, as grown men strip to the waist to wander around Tesco, and women sit in the freezer section to try and cool off on a bag of peas.
As I sit writing these words, it’s over 33ºC in Leeds. LEEDS! And no one is coping very well. I don’t know if any of you have ever been packed into the 50A bus from Kirkstall to Leeds city centre, with no air conditioning and no room to move, but the Brits can be an unattractive crowd on a hot day.
We don’t do hot very well largely because we don’t have the infrastructure to deal with it. Our buildings are made of thick stone with double glazed windows, very few of us have air conditioning, and we will insist on sending our kids to school in uniforms made entirely of polyester. I don’t want to be “that” person, but Britain can be a miserable place in a heatwave. It’s one thing to be sunning yourself in a tropical location at 35ºC. It is another thing entirely to sit in an office cubicle all day or to socialise with other, equally hot and irritable people.
Which brings me back to my original point; dating in a heatwave. Urgh. No. No one ever thinks of the single people trying to pull, do they? You might not think this is as serious as the polar ice caps melting, but then you’ve probably never tried to stop sweating in a Bella Italia while wearing a pair of Spanx.
Before you write in, I am joking! I know that having make-up slide off my face and into the starter is not as serious as the whales dying, but it is still a freaking nightmare when you’re trying to impress someone.
Even if you can somehow will your own body to cease perspiring in the infernal heat, there is everyone else’s to contend with. The smell, dear reader. My god, the smell. I was on the London Underground during the last heatwave and nearly passed out. Cheesy feet, sour armpits, and the faint whiff of tepid bacon rind emanated up from the collective throng of sweaty flesh as everyone struggled to get home in one piece. Imagine fighting through that to try and put your best face forward on a date. It’s appalling. The only consolation is that your Tinder match probably stinks as well.
It is impossible to look good on a date in these kinds of temperatures. I don’t want to wear nice clothes. I want to wear a muumuu. Either that or nothing at all, but you can’t turn up naked without incurring a lifetime ban from Toby Carvery. Trust me, I’ve done the legwork.
My curly hair is having a humidity bonanza, all my fancy clothes are damp and bunched up into areas they have no right being in, and boy do you swiftly discover which colours are a bugger for showing up pit stains (light greys, blues, greens, and pinks). My face is red and blotchy and there is sweat dripping down my back and pooling in my underwear. I have never felt less sexy and more like an overdone potato.
Where do you go on a date when the thermostat has exploded? No one wants to eat anything! The thought of being in a dark clammy cinema, only to walk out to blisteringly hot sunshine, is just appalling. A romantic walk? Not unless you’re bringing a Bedouin and a camel to get you home again. A beer garden might be a good idea: just you, your date, and the 400 other people who thought they would “make the most of it”.
And even if you can fight through the sweat and the crowds and the smelly feet, do you really want to have sex with a stranger in an unairconditioned apartment? Really? Oh, it sounds like fun until you have someone’s sweat dripping into your open mouth. Trying to get into a decent position can be like trying to grip a jellied eel. It’s a miracle if you both manage to stay on the bed, quite frankly.
Right now, my idea of a good date would be lying naked on the marbled floor of an air-conditioned hotel with a man who never touches me, and occasionally throws cold water over me, like a beached whale. Bliss!
I don’t know if there has been any research done on the sex lives of British people during a heatwave. I presume not as until recently, heatwaves were rather rare, but I’d put money on us having much less sex than usual once the temperature creeps up over 30ºC. I mean really, who can be bothered? I am struggling to muster the energy to go and buy the food I need to keep myself alive. Bouncing around on someone’s sticky mattress is frankly out the question.
I think of the poor sods over in Kuwait and parts of India who are now dealing with temperatures exceeding 50ºC and still having to try and carry on. Are any of them having sex? Surely not. Perhaps a lack of sex could finally be the thing to force us to take global warming seriously! “No, you can’t build another AI data centre, Mr Musk. No one on the planning committee has been laid in months.”
The temperature is due to drop in the coming weeks, which will be a blessed relief for most of us. I’m sure we will all miss this sunshine once the rain and the fog are back, but right now I would swap it all for a date with a towel and a spare bottle of deodorant.