Don't rain on my parade? Why on earth not?!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that we Brits are obsessed with the weather. Never mind what political, global or domestic crisis is dominating the headlines; the worse the weather forecast at sign-off time, the better the outlook for stand-up comedians, daytime TV chat show hosts and queue conversations across the land.

When the Met Office recently declared a volte face on their predictions for a ‘barbecue summer’, we would have partied in the street - if it hadn’t been so cold, of course (and if we actually liked our neighbours). We seem to expect some kind of meteorological shop steward to “do something about” the fact that our summer season is very often far too similar to every other season of the year - ie, rainy. Because we don’t get a lot of sun, we either go to drastic measures to bask in the amount that’s available elsewhere or spray/toast/paint ourselves orange to make it look as though we have. But all the time, we’re missing the point: right here, right now and regardless of the weather, the UK climate (that’ll be mid-latitude oceanic, kids) creates, to my mind, a spectacularly beautiful environment all year round.

The hues of our British town, village and cityscapes, whether wrought from urban concrete or Cotswold stone, come to life in the rain; dust, humidity and sun that ‘cracks the flags’ can’t possibly create a tapestry anywhere near as rich or various. Greenery - be it the kind that flourishes along the byways that cut through acres of pastoral paradise or a dandelion stalk peeking from a crack in the pavement outside the local 24 hour garage - comes alive, thrives, and continues to survive when subject to regular showers. The world takes on a uniquely atmospheric ambience just before a storm, when clouds the colour of a bruises divide earth from sky with a claustrophobic canopy. Afterwards, when the drama has passed, it leaves in its wake feeling of promise and optimism far more inspiring and refreshing than the draining, oppressive aftermath of a too-hot day. Meanwhile, at the Great British Seaside...

In the 1920s, there was a huge leap in the number of people able to take a holiday by the sea. The original staycationers created an opportunity for the architects of the day to get truly creative, creating ultra-modern (for the time) holiday paradises all along the British coast. Up until cheap air travel dominated our psyches in the late 1970s, Blackpool, Bournemouth, Brighton, Clevedon, Weston Super Mare, Weymouth, Morecambe and Torquay were the hip destinations for cool travellers; today, the grand, camp and often brazenly kitsch architecture of these once-glorious resorts still reflects the glamour, frivolity and allure awaiting all who originally hopped aboard the seaside express. And storm clouds on the horizon never stopped play - such places were built with the vagaries of the British weather in mind. Even when it rains, it rains pennies from, if not exactly heaven, then an original 1950s fruit machine in a vintage games arcade that reeks of candyfloss and wet dog. You’ll never be far from the evocative assault to the senses that is an indoor funfair, complete with a carousel, dodgems and waltzers manned by louche young men as nonchalant as Edwardian dandies who take great delight in spinning thrill seekers into temporary oblivion And after your voyage of rediscovery, take it as an indisputable fact from an obsessive foodie that nothing - no food, anywhere in the world - tastes as good as fish and chips eaten from a warm, damp wrapper while taking shelter in a structure especially built for the purpose on the esplanade.

New York has its cityscapes, the Bahamas its beaches, Turkey its wallet-friendly lira. But Britain has a unique, indigenous charm all of its own - it’s called rain.