Why Britain desperately needs a news story about 'glorious weather' | Ian Jack

I remember chilly trips to the beach in Fife, and my first visit to the Mediterranean. The association of heat with pleasure is hard to shakeI never saw my mother in a swimsuit, and I only once remember my father in one. In Fife in the 1920s, when both of them were young, sun-worshipping had yet to catch on. When my father swam, he swam in rivers, and then warmed himself up with a brisk towelling. My mother, who never learned to swim, would enjoy a day on the sands with tea brewed over a fire and sometimes a dance or two, if anyone had a squeezebox and the rain held off.My parents remembered these things fondly during my childhood, when we might spend a summer afternoon on the local beach - it was only a 15-minute walk away - sometimes with relatives: cousins, a grandfather, uncles and aunts. Meteorology was less reliable then, and there seemed to be little question of adults "dressing for the weather" other than carrying a tightly folded plastic mac, which removed the precautionary need for a proper raincoat neatly arranged over the forearm.Ian Jack is a Guardian columnist Continue reading...