‘I ate a Christmas cake’: How we’re coping with miserable Juneuary

An unusual batch of bad summer weather has left the country feeling gloomy - Bav Media

Have we ever had a more miserable spell of so-called summer weather? Trudging back home from the West End last night, peering out at the gloom from under the hood of my raincoat (which I stored away in a fit of optimism last month, then hastily dug out again), while my pitiful umbrella was blown sideways by the wind, it felt more like January than June. In fact, we might have to rechristen this dismal month “Juneuary”.

Apparently it’s all the fault of the jet stream, which is further south than it should be this time of year and so is ushering in Arctic winds. But whatever the cause, it’s a bitterly cold letdown, and anyone whose upcoming summer plans involve an outdoor event – whether Wimbledon, Glastonbury, a fete or a garden party – is now nervously eyeing the forecast.

Of course, such unseasonal weather also ushers in the great central heating wars. Are you the hardy type who never turns the heating on post-April – much to your partner’s fury? Or are you finding inventive ways to beat the Juneuary blues? Here Telegraph writers share their experiences and hot tips.

‘I’m thinking of wearing a summer dress to a party – with thermal underwear’

Petronella Wyatt

'I've started eating winter food again, like shepherd's pie' - Channel 4

I now have my dog – he’s a papillon called Maxie – sleeping on my bed. He acts like a little hot water bottle. The central heating is back on at night, and I’m taking two hot baths a day.

I’ve also started eating winter food again, comforting dishes like shepherd’s pie. I got a Christmas hamper this year which I never got around to finishing, so last night I brought it back out and ate the Christmas cake. I’ve also gone back to making lots of soups. It’s very cold in the kitchen, so when I’m in there I turn on all my gas appliances like the gas stove.

Clothing-wise, I’m doing lots of calculated layering at the moment. I’ll put on a T-shirt, then a wool jumper on top. I must look rather eccentric: I’ll wear something like a cotton skirt with thick tights underneath. I’ve got most of my summer clothes still hanging in my wardrobe, but you can’t really wear the dresses – you have to wear separates and put something warm on top or beneath. Mind, I am thinking of wearing a summer dress to a garden party, but with a nice pair of thermal underwear.

I’m also spending more time under the covers watching my favourite movies. My comfort watch is old Hitchcock films. Last week I was invited to an outdoor party, but it was raining and I thought “I just can’t face this”. So instead I stayed at home under the blankets and snuggled up with Casablanca.

I do invite friends around a lot. I’ve got a living room with a gas fire that’s on all the time, and that’s proving popular.

It’s been such a grim month, but I’m quite good at bearing things on the whole. I think the English generally are. You just have to sit tight and hope for better things – or in this case better weather – to come.

‘If I lived alone I’d never put the central heating on’

Michael Deacon

Deacon: 'If I lived alone I'd never put on the heating - I'd have icicles forming on my nose' - Paul Grover

I have an advantage in that I just don’t feel the cold. My wife finds this very strange indeed: we’re opposites in that sense. We live in a townhouse in Gravesend in Kent, and my study is on the ground floor. She says to me “I don’t know how you can stand it, it’s like an ice box in there”, but I genuinely don’t notice it.

Whereas my wife is the sort of person who wants the heating to be on at every opportunity. She actually called a guy round this morning to inspect our boiler – not that there’s anything wrong with it, the guy said it’s in perfect working order, but she’s so concerned about what might happen if the boiler stopped working.

She’s the boss, so if she wants to put the heating on in summer that’s fine. If I lived alone I’d never put it on – I’d have icicles forming on my nose.

I think many husbands and wives have this conundrum: men are insensitive to cold, women are sensitive. If you think of the famous Antarctic explorers they’re all men. You wouldn’t hear a woman saying “I am just going outside and I may be some time.” She’d stay tucked up in her sleeping bag.

Tomorrow we’re meant to have my son’s primary school’s annual summer festival – a sort of fete with stalls and games – but the forecast is for thundery showers. Not ideal.

The gloom does affect me. It’s so dark all the time; it’s like January. I turn more lights on otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see what I’m writing. I find it visually depressing.

On the upside, the rain’s been fantastic for the garden this year. I’ve never seen the trees like this: everything’s exploded.

It hasn’t changed my social plans. I’m a married father in my mid 40s so I hardly go out anyway. Besides, the football is about to start. Even if the sun does come out, I’m staying put. At the most, I might walk 30 feet down to the local pub.

I’d say the most helpful thing you can do to cope with this weather is: be a Scot. I grew up in Inverness in the Highlands and then Edinburgh, so this is basically paradise. The English weather holds no fear for me.

‘Look on the bright side – it’s good for the wildlife’

Joe Shute

Joe Shute: 'We take great pleasure in watching the new birds in the garden' - Eagle Owl

As the Telegraph’s weather columnist, I do understand why this is happening, but it’s still a big surprise – especially compared with last June, which was the hottest on record. The jet stream dictates British weather, and because it’s shifted south of the UK, it opens a window for colder air from the north to come in.

Climate change is also slowing down weather patterns, as I wrote about in my book Forecast: A Diary of the Lost Seasons. It means a certain type of weather, like rain or heat, will persist much longer. So that’s why this grey weather hasn’t changed for what feels like a million years. We can’t rely on British seasons in the same way.

However, I live in Sheffield – you can’t feel the cold if you live here! There’s actually a word for someone like that: “nesh”.

Luckily my wife is like me: she prefers a cold house. We haven’t had the heating on for a couple of months. But the past few days it’s been so freezing that it’s been tempting to whack it on for bit.

We miss some summer traditions, like being able to sit out in the evening with a drink. It’s also a bit depressing to have to wear both a jumper and a coat this time of year – though I haven’t had to bring out my woolly hat just yet.

But my wife and I are both wildlife enthusiasts, so we can see the bright side. Because it’s been wet for so long there’s this profusion of slugs. We’ll walk up to our allotment and pick the slugs off our lettuce plants and sunflowers, then chuck them over the wall as far as they’ll go (with apologies to our neighbours!). Combining that evening walk, with protecting our plants is a pleasant way to spend time together. Although it’s a totally pointless task as the slugs just slither back overnight.

It’s good for blackbirds too. This time of year their chicks are starting to fledge and look for food like slugs and snails, and dig for worms. We take great pleasure in watching the new birds in the garden. When it rains they can drink the water and clean themselves in overflowing pots.

‘I’ll get out my posh blanket that’s usually just for Christmas’

Judith Woods

Woods: 'If my husband buys a gilet I'm padlocking the thermostat' - Rii Schroer

Horse trading is in full swing at Woods Towers as my husband tries to stop me from turning on the central heating. Unfortunately, it doesn’t involve actual horses because they would warm the sitting room nicely.

As it is, he has magnanimously agreed that I can snuggle up with our bigger dog, Otto, under a throw on the sofa on an ongoing basis. When it gets colder after dark I am also allowed a half-share of Otto’s sister, Mabel.

If that fails to keep me toasty, I am allowed to upgrade my summer-weight Primark blanket to the posh John Lewis version that only comes out at Christmas.

Meanwhile, my husband is routinely wearing winter sweaters. I fear he may only be several degrees away from buying a finance bro gilet. At that point, I will crank up the radiators and padlock the dial.

‘People who obsess about rain have got their priorities muddled’

William Sitwell

Sitwell: 'I love to mow my lawn and the grass loves the rain' - Andrew Crowley

My central heating is absolutely not going back on. I’m keeping warm right now by setting up tables for 60 people who are coming for a Jamaican Night with chef April Jackson, scrubbing tables, cleaning down the kitchen, and sweeping leaves – I believe in physical activities to keep warm. I’ve also got a big fire pit which I’ve just lit.

Tonight we’ll be drinking vast quantities of Devon Hattiers rum, along with Fortnum champagne and Exmoor ale, and eating April’s curried goat croquettes.

Where I am it’s more wet than cold anyway. I’m not particularly bothered by the cold, but when I stage events outdoors I’d rather it doesn’t rain. At least we’re well covered in my converted cow shed.

I love to mow my lawn and the grass loves the rain. Then when the sun comes out, it feels perfect. I’m an optimist, weather-wise: it can rain all summer, but if we have two days of sunshine I’ll say to complainers “No, it’s been a great summer.”

I think people who obsess about rain have got their priorities muddled. I’m looking at the sheep grazing happily in the field. It’s all part of life.

It does depress me a bit sitting in my study writing when all I can hear is the thundering down of yet another storm on the roof. But there’s no point worrying about it. You should only worry about things you actually have control over, and the weather certainly isn’t one of them.

To produce good English wine, however, we do need a good Wimbledon fortnight of sun. Actually, that’s the only time I hate the rain: when the tennis is called off.

But I don’t feel sorry for festival-goers dragging their little boots and festive gear through the sodden mud. Maybe because I’m jealous that I never seem to get there.

‘I have a hot water bottle constantly in use’

Dominic Cavendish

'My hot water bottle is constantly in use' - David Rose

I suppose as a theatre critic people might expect me to be lustily enacting Singin’ in the Rain, swinging round lampposts and splashing in puddles. The truth is more wimpishly prosaic.

I recently downsized to a flat because I was concerned about electricity costs. But then I started worrying that climate change would take over and I’d be battered by storms and the roof will blow off. I lie awake listening to it pelt down – I can hear every drumbeat of rain. But then I’m the sort of person who always has a double duvet situation, even in midsummer.

I’m not a fashion follower, so my regular warm coat has stayed on. I also have a hot water bottle constantly in use. There was a moment in May when it got hot for about two days and I put it away – now it’s back. I carry it around like a faithful puppy, making its comforting “slosh-slosh” sound. I’m not an example of hardiness.

My other terrible guilty secret is that I’ve recently avoided going to outdoor theatres like the Globe and Regent’s Park – much as I admire the trouper spirit of everyone involved. We should all keep doing nice things in the summer, whatever the weather, but you do go much more reluctantly when it’s miserable out.

I live in Charlbury in the Cotswolds, and we’re supposed to be terribly smug that we reside in this oasis in summer, the envy of all those visiting tourists. Right now, though, we’re all feeling a bit sheepish because the whole place is sodden. My block of flats invested in benches for our communal garden, but no one’s sitting on them. We’re all in hibernation. I’m helping plan the local street fair and thinking “God, by the time this comes around in September surely there’ll be some sun.”

There is the lovely Chipping Norton Lido. Even when it’s raining, being surrounded by trees it makes sense to be in the water – and it’s heated. I suppose it’s fighting fire with fire: literally immersing yourself. I think Chipping Norton’s Living Room cinema will also be visited a lot. We all need a dose of escapism.

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