S unglasses. Leggings. Jumper.
Suncream. Coat. Bikini.
Woolly hat. Umbrella. Every single one of these items was in my bag over the weekend.
I was simply packing for a day out; I’d planned a wander along the coastal path, and mooted meeting friends at the harbour for a late lunch. But, like every other Briton at the moment, I had zero idea of how to dress for a day that might include any or all of the following: sun, rain, wind, fog, cold, heat, hail. I don’t have any evidence to support this claim, but that won’t stop me telling anyone who’ll listen that this May feels more changeable than any in living memory.
I’ve never agonised so much about choosing an outfit in the morning. Wear a pair of tights and boots, and you’ll find yourself sweating in mid-twenties heat. Opt for short sleeves and no jacket, and you’re asking to get caught in a freak monsoon.
Leave the straw trilby at home, and prepare to feel the wrath of the sun, as the parting of your hair gets severely burnt in real-time when the clouds suddenly dissipate with no warning. Then enjoy explaining to everyone that “it’s not dandruff, it’s sunburn , honestly” for the next two weeks. “I can’t live like this!” my friend shrieked suddenly and overdramatically as we recently sat shivering on a restaurant terrace, having been assured by the Met Office that spring had officially sprung – just one more untruth in the web of lies that have made up the weather “forecast” since time immemori.
