‘No plans to impose hosepipe ban’ after 1 sodding week of sunshine

In an announcement that literally nobody asked for, it has been revealed that there are no plans for an imminent hosepipe ban.

Water UK, the imaginatively named overseer of water in the UK, have insisted that the 9 days of moderate heat has yet to deplete the resources built up by the two solid years of rain in the run up to July.

Ahh, the golden summer of 2012

Ahh, the golden summer of 2012

“We’ve got shitloads of water”, said a spokesman.

“Not only are reservoir levels at a satisfactory level, we’ve now got reservoirs where there weren’t reservoirs before. Cornwall is no longer a duchy but a duck pond, which is of course a real boon for us.

“However, given our track record at storing water effectively I wouldn’t be surprised if we had to impose a ban next week.”

“All of our reservoirs are made of sieves.”

He encouraged people to “carry on with their lives”, seemingly under the assumption that mass suicide is the only rational response to a hosepipe ban.

Given the current heatwave has lasted all of a week, and the last time Britain even saw the sun is alleged to be sometime in late 2009, this feels like a slightly unnecessary announcement.

For one thing, if we’re even remotely close to getting low on water stocks somebody in charge of looking after it ought to be shot.

Second, and more importantly, hosepipe bans are traditionally an awful way to get people to cut back on their water use.

“Hosepipe ban you say? I’d best water the geraniums.

“All night.”

 

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It’s too hot

It is. Come on. It isn’t just me is it?

I think the worst part of it is that the wind is having itself a day off, which it certainly didn’t clear with any of us first, cheeky sod. A lovely bit of breeze would be just champion right now, but it’s off elsewhere. No doubt somewhere cool. Instead we’re just left with the wind’s creepy arch-nemesis, humidity. I can feel it’s sweaty hands all over me while it whispers threatening sweet nothings in my ears. In my head it resembles Chris Moyles. In a cape.

Correct. I am not.

It thundered a bit earlier. That was just cruel. It had all the hallmarks of one of those huge bastard summer storms that gets the world back on an even keel; I was ready to go and stand outside in my just pants getting soaked, grinning like an idiot in just his pants. Then it seemed to get bored and wander off, maybe the wind is having a party somewhere and the thunder was just passing through on its way, necking Lambrini and shouting.

As a nation we’re a bit obsessed with the weather, but very much in the same way we’re obsessed with Simon Cowell. We’ll religiously follow the weather and what it’s up to simply in order to be angered by it and shout about how shit it is, a bit like I’m doing now.

30 degrees, glorious sunshine, not a breath of wind? “Eugh, too hot, why can’t it at least bloody snow?”

-10 degrees, snow laying like my favourite type of pizza (deep pan, crisp and even. lol.)? “I can’t wait for summer.”

Perhaps it’s then unsurprising that various elements of our weather system are deserting us. There’s just no pleasing us, no matter what the weather tries to do we’re not satisfied. This must be how Piers Morgan feels.

It’s still too hot though. Bloody weather. Why can’t it snow?