Lay of the Land: Why this Paddy is getting prickly about the heat

'For May was nice. And June continuing so was a surprise. But then it was July, and the eerily blue skies and scorching temperatures before noon no longer seemed so nice.' (Martin Keene/PA)

Fiona O'Connell

July 22 2018 06:30 PM

Local hero pigeon Little Flying Fauntleroy's white feathers blended in beautifully with his surroundings during this year's snowy spring. But being camouflaged possibly played a part in the fancy pigeon's downfall after the thaw caused him to let down his guard and fall prey to a female sparrowhawk.

The white-out landscape of a few months ago is strangely similar to this summer's bleached and burnt-out offering - with little urgency to make hay while the sun shines, for fields around this country town are already spun into dried-out fodder.

Several seasons seem stuffed into one, thirsty trees shedding leaves as if it was autumn. While spring was finally in the arid air, with the 'pip-pip' sound of ducklings and birds feeding chicks, it wasn't so much a case of a bat out of hell as those bewildered flying mammals waking to a world as hot as hell.

There were summery delights, such as children crossing the bridge with wet hair and towels around their shoulders after a swim in the river. Market Street looked positively Mediterranean, the Blackberry Cafe advertising iced coffee and air-con, while folk ate al fresco.

But despite the macho posturing of die-hards who denied there was anything peculiar about a double whammy drought and heatwave, the honeymoon ended weeks ago.

For May was nice. And June continuing so was a surprise. But then it was July, and the eerily blue skies and scorching temperatures before noon no longer seemed so nice. Fire brigades tore about as people stopped wondering if the weather would last 'til the weekend. Some confessed that they preferred being indoors with cooling fans to the relentless high temperature.

"It's not Irish," many locals said. "But it's OK if you're sipping cocktails on holidays," added a woman working in the air-conned sanctuary of a supermarket.

For we associate heat with going abroad for a break, returning home to grumble about our grey skies. But this was home. And working in it was no holiday. Especially as there was no escape.

Just as chilli actually means something hot, life turned upside down. The weather forecast predicted a possibility of rain in the same wincing tones of bearing bad news - but now because they didn't want to get our hopes up. Nobody wanted to admit nostalgia for soft days, drizzle or even downpours.

For instead of our taken-for-granted 40 shades of green, we saw hues of shrivelled straw. Which is no fun for farmers, who are already struggling to cope with too many cattle thanks to the bloated dairy industry. And that means more poor creatures are likely to be offloaded as live exports to sweltering climates with no animal welfare - especially with claims that meat processors are exploiting the situation by slashing prices further.

Which is why, at the risk of being pigeon-holed as a sun-hating Paddy, when it comes to weather, I'm all burnt out.