Our seasons have lost their predictability
I RECENTLY came into possession of a series of four books. Written by the author and biologist Elliot Lovegood Grant Watson and published by Ladybird in the late 1950s, the series is entitled What to Look for In … with one book dedicated to each season.
Beautifully illustrated by Charles Tunnicliffe, each edition is a swirling tour de force of seasonal nostalgia. Spring is all swirling lapwings, autumn fields in harvest and summer a hazy dreamscape of buzzing wasps and butterflies.
On that note, I am yet to spot a single wasp so far this summer – although I have eaten a blackberry – perfectly ripe and, to my mind, far better suited to the autumn edition – which I found a week ago sprouting out of a roadside bush in Sheffield.
EL Grant Watson may have confidently told us what to look out for half a century ago, but in the modern era, the seasonal variations are becoming distinctly muddied.
How to marry his halcyon imagery of everything doing as it somehow should with the topsy turvy weather of recent weeks and the way in which nature responds in kind?
You can forget your Enid Blyton picnics this weekend, with more rain forecast and thunderstorms in the west and north west – although things are looking brighter in the south.
Yet even as the rain hammers down, temperatures are rising to a sticky humid crescendo. By Tuesday, there is the possibility of temperatures reaching 86-95F (30-35C) in England and Wales and 68-81F (20-27C) in Scotland and Northern Ireland.
Sadly, this is not the start of the “three-month heatwave” erroneously reported in parts of the press over the past week – rather a very short burst of heat before thunderstorms return once more.
Today EL Grant Watson’s endeavours to categorise the seasons seem a heroic attempt at order. But with regard to what to look for in the summer of 2019, you’d have better luck reading the runes.