At last, we Britons have learnt to look cool in the heat

The sun is out. And it is rumoured that it will be out for a while. To hear people talk – the stricken faces, the panicked tones, the darting eyes already seeking shady nooks – you would think we were facing a nuclear winter, not the first signs of summer.

It is not necessary. Sure, we have a long history as a dismal, pallid, island people and so long a tradition of hunkering down beneath overcast skies and preparing for the worst the meteorological gods have to offer that it feels like part of our constitution. But we’re better now!

Whether the catalyst was several years of improving weather (thank you, early signs of global warming) or the increased holidaying of said pallid island people in the warmer, more honeyed climes, I do not know. But it was about 25 years ago, I remember, that strange items began to appear on our summer city pavements.

Amid the dog mess and litter sprang up little tables and chairs, spilling out from cafes – which had hitherto been thoroughly enclosed affairs, offering three drinks (tea, coffee, water) and two sandwiches (cheese, ham) – and inviting people to sit down and watch the world wag past. And, once it dawned on the owners that it might be a good idea to clear up the dog mess and litter too, we did.

Just as we learnt, gradually, to trust the new, ridiculous drinks they offered – lattes! Macchiatos! Frappucinos! – we gradually learnt to trust the weather. Summer could, increasingly, be counted on to deliver some sunshine. We slowly came to understand that we would be warm for whole days at a time. Our wardrobes underwent a commensurate evolution. Strappy tops were no longer just for the beach and the single hottest hour of August. Cotton skirts could be worn without either tights or the fear of losing toes to frostbite.

Of course there were mistakes made along the way. The British upper arm is never a thing of beauty, and the less said about men’s feet the better. Our under-exposed flesh went too pink too fast – the average metropolis often looked like a basket of ambulant lobsters – and we sweated… too much.

But we learnt. To hit the gym or wear sleeves. To clip our toenails or find a lovely, light, but clearly closed shoe. To apply sunscreen lavishly and to curtail strenuous activity in lockstep with rising temperatures.

The only reason we still panic as summer approaches is that mass memory always lags behind reality. Just as your grandma remained a margarine hoarder to the end of her life, 50 years after rationing ended, so we collectively cannot shake off our years of not being able to cope with the coming of the warm season.

But we can. We do! You will! Slap on the sunscreen, slip on a spaghetti top and enjoy.