Heat perspective... Heat preparation...Heat privation... Heat paroxysms...

In the UK, we’ve just endured the second of this year’s potentially many unseasonal heatwaves: one in May, this one just gone in June (and now one predicted for July.) Socials have been on fire (pun definitely intended) with moans, advice, warnings, suggestions and the like – from those in the UK or Europe, who are likewise being slammed with this roastfest.

Others, however, choose to mock the wimpy pale Northerners, bragging about how hot it really is in Florida/Sydney/Texas/name your ‘hot place’ here. Quite unpleasant things have been said (not surprisingly, alas, considering the standard of the online pools of unpleasantness we must needs negotiate in this sad world, but here we are).

Now, I am from Australia. Raised in Brisbane, Queensland, where the beautiful winters are fleeting and the elongated summers are brutal. If anyone should be crowing about how bad it isn’t really for the UK, I should be up there with them. The late November day I left Brisbane for the Midlands (technically still our spring), I took a bus home in the early afternoon: 38C and rising, 90% humidity, with the usual spectacular thunderstorm following. One might think that this would make me well equipped to manage the current UK ‘inferno’.

And one would be wrong.

Is it ‘as hot’ here as it has frequently been at home? No, not really, in terms of literal measurements.

Does it feel as hot here as at home? Oh yes. And at times, much worse.

Allow me to explain, for those blessed with warm climates.

The UK’s warm season is much shorter than their cold season, and their hottest hots are much less frequent than their coldest colds. Therefore, their temperature management system is geared toward heat retention. Warmer places like Brisbane have the reverse situation, and our infrastructure is naturally oriented to maximise airflow, dissipate heat, and keep things cool. Warmer places are also much more likely to have a standard of aircon in public facilities and places, including public transport. When it gets cold in Brisbane (and I mean, when it gets below about 10C), we all put on jumpers and socks, and moan about it. And flip the reverse cycle over to blow hot air for a few days (or a few weeks if it’s really chilly). We might have to work a little to keep the warm air in, but it rarely brings systems to a crashing halt. We won’t be snowed in and we won’t freeze.¹

When it gets hot in the UK, the heat has nowhere to go.

Many buildings don’t have aircon, or heating with reverse cycle options, for the simple fact they are so rarely needed. Public transport doesn’t always even have aircon – most of the London Tube for instance is (in)famous for it. Systems don’t cope well with overheating, be they electrical or mechanical. Things literally melt down to a screaming halt.

Allow me to share my recent Friday with you as a case in point.

On Friday I was travelling from Glasgow to Derby, via Crewe. I’d been at a conference in Glasgow, and even there it had been at times uncomfortably warm – sitting in lecture rooms with little airflow, full sunlight until well after 9pm – but it was pretty tolerable for a Queenslander most of the time. I boarded my 11.56 train at Glasgow Central (and a massive shout out to the splendid Passenger Assistance people for helping me with baggage and boarding; you are wonderful!)² All went swimmingly until we unaccountably stopped just south of Carlisle. After some time, it was announced that there was a fault with the train – the front portion had lost power (overheated). After a little more time, we began moving again. Slooowly. It was announced that, due to the system faults/shorts/problems, the crew had been preparing to swap out the engine with another train if it couldn’t be restarted, which required opening some kind of esoteric hatch (I don’t pretend to be a technical person). The engine had restarted, but now the mysterious hatch could not be closed, meaning the train could only safely travel below 80mph, instead of the usual high speed. The plan was to try again to fix the hatch at the next station or so.

So far, endurable. Next announcement: the kiosk regrettably had to shut down as they too had lost power (there was some water available if needed). Additionally, carriages closest to the engine had lost ventilation, so passengers were relocated to other carriages where there was air circulating properly (you couldn’t call it air con, it’s not cold. It was barely cool. But at least it was on). Of course, there was an approximate ratio of 4 passengers to 1 free seat, so that was not especially helpful to said airflow. I was very grateful I was already in the vented carriages in a seat (and furthermore was prepared to defend it with my crutches if necessary). Before long it was obvious that I would miss my connecting 3.26 train at Crewe, but due to the extreme weather, all tickets were opened to flexible travel and I could catch the next similar train… 2 hours later. I resigned myself to coffee and time-killing in Crewe and tried to snooze.

They couldn’t fix the hatch at Preston. We sat there for some time. I ceased to snooze and began to sweat. Eventually we proceeded onward at snail’s pace, with regular updates on the possibility of various connections at Crewe – more and more being delayed or cancelled – and also options for swapping to other London-bound trains who would likely arrive before this one, whose route would be changed to try and make up time. We crawled on. It was stuffy, crowded, and I was out of water (and unable to get out my seat to get any). Time ticked on, our delay time increased and I began to realise there might be a very short transfer at Crewe… what should have been 23 minutes became 19, then 15, then 11….

We arrived at Crewe at 5.17 pm (over two hours late) with 9 minutes for me to locate and limp to my onward train. Crewe, however, was in chaos. People everywhere looking confused. A constant roll of announcements. After much stressful scanning, I found a noticeboard³ – only to find that my onward train was cancelled. Then I had a ‘heat-induced melt down’, I’m not ashamed to admit. Eventually I pulled myself together, went in search of help, and found a remarkably calm staff member, who confirmed that there was another train to Derby shortly – 6.26. I thanked her as if she had granted me a million dollars, and headed over to Platform 2 to wait.

At home in Brisbane, 6.30 pm is either dark, dusk, or about to be dusk. It might still be muggy, but the sun is cruising down to the horizon. On platform 2 in Crewe, the sun was still high, beating solidly into my face, there was practically no shade, and very few seats. Our sweaty repose was continually interrupted by announcements of platform changes, train delays, train cancellations; I was not surprised to hear that my former Euston-bound train was among them. I wasn’t really surprised to hear that my eagerly-awaited train was also to be delayed (at least only slightly). At long last – the purple East Midlands Rail carriage chugged in, greeted by cheers (really, there were a few). It was, alas, two carriages only, with hordes of travellers waiting from several cancelled services, but we all squeezed in with determination. I eventually got to Derby around 8pm, more than 3 hours late – almost entirely due to heat related faults and stresses on the public transport system. When I arrived, the sun was still up, still beating down around 30C, though a welcome breeze picked up as we drove out of the station.

So, friends, that is just ONE example of the dramatic consequences of extreme heat in places unaccustomed to it. And no matter how hardy you think you might be, it’s just as unpleasant to experience as the average summer day in Brisvegas. According to husband, the last few days were also very taxing on our narrowboat – think hollow metal tube – even in a breezy, riverside location with plenty of water, ice and a fan.

The changing climate we have brought upon ourselves is inescapably real and its consequences are increasingly dangerous, wherever in the world we live. Let’s not kid ourselves otherwise, and let’s be kind to each other when the winds blow hot, cold, or ugly.

---

1. There have been only 2 instances in the last century when snow was reported in Brisbane – very light flakes that quickly vanished and caused wonderment but not disruption. Of course, the most vulnerable are still at risk if they don’t have access to enough warm clothing or shelter, so despite my flippant tone we do still take weather extremes seriously at home too. ↩︎
2. If you haven’t seen my previous post, I am on crutches with a damaged knee after falling into a canal lock. Yep. I have a special set of skills. ↩︎
3. My sincere apologies to the man I interrupted to look for my train! I really thought I was going to have to hop for it, crutches and all. ↩︎