Hot-headed thinking over heatwave

IF there is one thing that gets my goat, it’s other people catching other goats. There’s not much, save for full-on heatwaves, that will cause me to get overly hot under the collar – but if, like me, you tend to see the world through relaxed rather than angry eyes, then it becomes all the more mysterious and vexing to watch folk getting extremely agitated over things you’d have thought would pass without muster.

Heatwaves, to take one example. I was amazed this week, not only by the ferocity of the heat, but also by the blazing ferocity with which a lot of people greeted any mention of that heat.

“What’s wrong with our Nanny State? We had the heat much longer in 1976 and you didn’t hear all this nonsense about global warming then! Why are the media so obsessed now?” harrumphed an old friend on Facebook.

My social media feed was filled with such comments – almost as if there was some kind of evil conspiracy afoot designed to overthrow civilised society by getting us all to worry about this mythical thing called climate change. There seems to be a desperate cry of: “It doesn’t exist!” – as in Hans Christian Andersen’s fable, The Emperor’s Robes, only a lot more serious.

I’d have thought, as we reeled in record-breaking temperatures, the old-fashioned theory that it’s all much ado about nothing had finally been dispelled. We not only felt the heat, but we saw images of English villages burning as though they were in somewhere like southern Spain or Australia. Add the knowledge that 99 scientists out of every 100 are absolutely certain global warming is happening, and surely there really is little room for doubt?

But here’s the question I’d like to ask. Even if it turned out that some hitherto unknown quirk of nature had managed to fool all the climate experts, then why get so bothered and enraged?

What’s wrong with newscasters interviewing doctors, ambulance drivers and meteorologists in the run-up to the hottest day Britain has ever seen? What’s wrong with advising the public to keep out of the sun? Why shoot the messenger?

I blame sensationalist daily papers who’d rather give column inches to puffed up lobbyists with similar economic interests to their owners than real experts. One national paper carried a front page moaning about “Snowflake Britain” having a “meltdown” one day – then, just 24 hours later having seen the scary reality of people’s homes burning, U-turned to declare: “Nightmare of the Wildfires”.

It was enough to make the normally cool Andrew Marr hot under the collar on his LBC show: “I have had enough of being told by shadowy old businessmen and lazy, ignorant hacks – who aren’t real scientists – that the science is wrong,” he growled. “There are powerful and influential forces who want to water down Britain’s (environmental) commitments, ditch green levies, extend deadlines, widen loopholes.”

So much for the media. But why do ordinary folk like my old mate become so cross? I know how we can all become angry with certain politicians and their ideas – but politics is all about differing opinion. Heatwaves aren’t. They’re just going to slap you in the face, regardless of conspiracy theories or anything else. Why raise your blood pressure by seeing someone like a doctor or an ambulance driver on TV news begging people to be sensible in temperatures climbing over 40 degrees?

There’s something in all this anger which reminds me of a skinhead I once knew. Back in the summer of ’76, in fact. He was a nasty piece of work, who cared massively about his own self-image. A fact which led him to make the mistake of showing off in a local Indian restaurant (after racially abusing staff ) by boasting he would consume the hottest curry they could make.

Halfway through his vindaloo he managed to croak the words: “It’s not hot. Not hot at all!”

But half an hour later I happened to be walking past a churchyard with my girlfriend and we heard a terrible sound emanating from behind the graves. It was the skinhead being sick. And crying. He really was sobbing with the pain which had, he informed us between groans, attacked all his orifices. “Don’t tell anyone, Hesp, or I’ll kick your ‘ead in…” he wheezed.

Why had he made the ludicrous boast? Everything about it was stupid. It was obvious the staff at the Indian would make sure he got a nuclear hot curry, and no one could blame them. Even his wished-for outcome of appearing to be a hard man didn’t come off, because my mischievous girlfriend told everyone about his pathetic graveyard groaning.

This week’s rantings rang similar bells. “Back in the ’76 heatwave we schoolboys merely took off our jackets and ties and got on with it!” boasted one diehard in a newspaper letters page.

Good for him! But what’s wrong with cutting harmful emissions, with ceasing to pollute our planet, with looking after the environment? If our lacklustre politicians could get their slow heads around the notion, this nation could become rich on leading the way in developing new green technologies. How could that possibly make anyone angry?