Summertime, and the dressing is... cheesy

LET’S be honest with each other. British people are hopeless at dressing well in hot weather.

Give us a rainstorm on a windswept hillside and we know where we are and what is required. Cosy quilting, waxed outer garments, scarves and mittens, nice socks inside wellies, hat with a bobble, sorted.

Place us in the middle of a heatwave and we wilt like parched tulips. We quite often look ridiculous. We just can’t help ourselves.

Men cope by either dressing like toddlers or wearing clothes reserved for sporting activities, in public. They think this looks nice. T h ey then put their unspeakable feet in eight-yearold sandals stitched from boiled ferrets and consider themselves quite the summer dandy. They should be locked up.

Women try their best in useless High Street linens cut into blocky gravestone shapes, which shrink after the first wash.

Entire families, such as the Jacob

Rees-Moggs (above), take to the balmy outdoors in outfits that have been cobbled together from remnants on grandad’s attic floor. We just haven’t got a clue.