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Summer being a dick is a default in the UK. We take our sunshine where we can get it, barbecue at first sight of golden evening light, and expose our pasty skin to the solar radiation whenever possible (responsibly of course). Summer happening in August is an increasingly tenuous proposition. February, toasty break the shorts out, May, sure, November, very possibly, July, yes the thermometer just melted as I tried to order an air conditioning unit. As for August? Hahaha! Do you mean warm winter?
Firstly, thoughts and prayers to anyone who had a family camping holiday in the UK in the first half of August 2019. It was, err, let us say 'feisty'. Please dispose of the tattered remains of your tent responsibly, and we'll all agree not to talk about Monopolygate ever again.
Summer hols are about fun waves, longboarding days and beach life. Not weather warnings, red-flagged beaches and the RAF shoring up near collapsing dams as the evacuated villagers wonder what-the-shit is going on.It was brutal as low after low swung in on the jet stream, right hooking us a with pasting worthy of mid-December.
The obvious glaring casualty in all of this wayward weather was Boardmasters, and many other outdoor events, who foolishly thought prime mid-summer, the supposedly halcyon calm days of lush golden light and chilled beverages was an apt time to do an outdoor shindig.
The cancellation was big news, but it was the right one, as the weekend in question saw sustained 50mph+ winds for over 24 hours and Fistral shut down on the Saturday as it was in full 'victory at sea' mode with whitewater to the horizon. The surf comp went ahead through the week as the riggers rushed to take down all the work they'd just finished before it all got blown to Devon. Imagine that call, 'SO guys, congrats on the site, the tents, stages and the whole site looks incredible. Great job. Tiptop work. Now … can you, err, just, ummm, take them all down again ASAP?'
Everyone was gutted.