There is something unique about British optimism. We persist stubbornly against hope with delusions of sunnier days. You can see it best when we BBQ in the UK.
The lawns are dewy, tickling your ankles with their condensation when you put your flip flops on. Wind whips rain sideways across your paper plates trying desperately to launch themselves into the clouds. And yet still you stand there preparing burgers with a smile on your face muttering that “it’ll clear up soon.” We don’t let a little thing like ‘weather’ ruin our plans for al fresco dining.
Oh no, Sod that. If it’s anything like sideways downpour out there, you’re pulling those burgers back inside and cooking them on the hood of your car.
But we are British.
We will BBQ in the depths of winter if someone insists on it. Our collective backsides have become so badly weather-beaten by Brit summers that they’re starting to blister in areas where sunscreen doesn’t normally belong. As such, we make allowances with our wardrobe.
Preparation and recovery are everything. It was 2008 when I learned my lesson. My workplace was throwing a “come and enjoy a casual summer get together at mine” in Chorlton.
I rocked up in the very embodiment of “late June Britain” – chino shorts, cotton shirt with rolled up sleeves, sockless sandals (ah youth, and ye field of excuses I used to attempt to justify naval themed clothing) As any good Brit would, the weather laughed at my fruitless optimism. Within the hour it had cooled by ten degrees, bucketed it down and I found myself hiding under a golf umbrella with goose pimples on my legs as my sandals soaked up water like a pair of delighted duvets. Except the host wasn’t laughing.
The man who lived literally five doors down from me and had spent his entire life braving the British “summer” sat grinning next to his BBQ wearing jeans, a T- shirt, nondescript jumper draped over his shoulders and a pair of leather brogues that appeared to have been treated with a personal water repellent. As my feet baked in soggy despair, I realised he hadn’t just got lucky. He’d anticipated.
He’d come prepared for a British summer. Not an Italian summers chance visit to Britain we’d all been hoping for. Since that day I’ve fine-tuned my dressing style for those all-too-common summer occasions.
I like to call it the British Summer BBQ Formula. It isn’t science, but it is an algorithm that helps ensure maximum swagger for whatever destruction mother nature wishes to throw your way. You see, the British summer isn’t one thing.
It isn’t hot all day followed by warm evening. British Summer is fifteen minutes of sun followed by/general precipitation. That could be rain.
It could be fog. It might even be heat wave enough to melt the Soylent Green just fleeing from sight. All of these things might happen in the space of an afternoon BBQ.
You need trousers that can cope with this ambiguous climate. But not just any trousers. You need Adaptive Trousers.
Now these are not, thankfully, trousers that can adapt to the weather around you like some sort of Transformer knock-off (although seriously, where are our adaptive clothing at?). Adaptive Trousers take many forms, but all operate within a climate sweet spot. They aren’t jeans, because if we do get that rare heat wave you’ll find yourself a sweaty sperm dolphin at any hint of movement.
But they’re also not so lightweight that the breeze will freeze you to the core or your legs end up sticking to that cheap padded chair your mate bought from eBay as ‘the garden furniture collection every self-respecting host needs’. For years I’ve leaned heavily into breathable cotton chinos, with a hint of elastane for good measure. Not your stiffboard, get-your-uniform-stampedatrework kind of chinos.
But soft and light enough that you can roll the legs up should it warm up. Traditional khaki works well, but I prefer richer tones that hide sins better. Warm brown, deep oranges and olive greens are my go-tos.
These have served me well over the years; ketchup stains, grass stains and that time a friends Labrador decided my leg was the optimal launching point into his own child’s paddling pool are just a few of life’s BBQ moments that these trousers have survived. Their colour would now be best described as “muddy” but we’re friends so I won’t tell anyone you wore them. Ah yes, the top half.
This is where it all gets fun. Or tactical. You’ve got to be ready for at least three different types of weather on a typical British summer day.
What’s more, you never know when these meteorological shifts are going to happen. You could be melting in the sunshine one second, and then socked in by ominous clouds whilst your pit beef chills in its own fat. To that end I like to layer as follows: – A decent cotton T-shirt as your base layer – Something longer sleeved and light that you can put on when the clouds roll in – A light jacket you can take off again when it inevitably warms up again for that twenty-minute stint of sunlight we’re promised each day That middle layer is where I feel folk really falter.
Have they gone too heavy and now they’re sweating into their potato skins? Too light and they’ll need to improvise with serviettes tucked into their sleeves when the wind comes back? Cotton overdress (yes, that’s a word now) is the Goldilocks option I’ve found.
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It’s heavy enough that you actually feel warm when it’s cold. Light enough that you can roll up your sleeves and look busyIf you like. They usually come with pockets too.
Perfect for storing up emergency bbq currency (aka getting your host to buy you another beer) and hiding questionable salsa dips you were politely provided but aren’t quite sure about. Neckerchief optional but handy if it gets cold. Light jacket choice depends a little on formality of the gathering.
We’re generally chill with BBQ attire, but some people actually iron table cloths these days. Jacket wise I’m a big fan of the Harrington or plain cotton bomber. Perfect for the elements and won’t insult your host if they’re wearing a waistcoat as apron.
Something smarter? Unstructured cotton or linen blazers are your friend here. Not only will you avoid absorbing half the meat juices but being unlined they won’t crease like a dropped souffle if you have to shove them over a chair back.
Vital in both instances? They can be thrown in the wash. I speak from experience when I say you’ll wish you’d kept that linen blazer in dry cleaning solely for BBQ outings.
Footwear is always a dangerous game. Even if the sun is out and proud our gardens become nucleated mud-baths at the first hint of water. Flip flops and sandals might work… if you enjoy the feeling of grass sticking to your toes all day.
Conversely, shoes just feel too dressy and are equally susceptible to being ruined. Enter stage left: Amphibious shoes. Those that can handle a quick paddle without you having to change socks at the end of the night.
Deck shoes work well, but I prefer decent rubber sole ones as the leather versions often become death traps when wet (I’m looking at you shiny Portmans). Cotton or chino style trainers are great too, giving you that laid back, I don’t care what the weather is doing vibe but with better traction. For smarter engagements, go suede loafer with a rubber sole.
They still require waterproofing spray and the melancholy knowledge that they’re a bitch to clean, but they exude the kind of style points that would have me wear them anyway. My current favourites are Sanders & Sanders “dirty bucks”. Cream suede with red rubber sole that, for some reason, don’t look like they’ve been licked by a psychotic pony every time they get grass stained at a BBQ.
There’s also the matter of headwear. The sun is perfectly happy to ignore us for weeks on end, before turning up unannounced for an intense hour like it’s happy to fulfil its duties. I could get lectured on the appropriateness of hats at a BBQ but fuck it.
A baseball cap is obviously your best option for maximum coverage. The only problem is that either you’ll look like Death warmed up if you take it off, or like I do and just have evil patches of alopecia showing… Go lighter weight.
I’m currently sporting a battered cotton bucket hat that packs down small enough to stuff in your pocket when the sun god decides to grace us with his presence. They’re also (thank fuck) making a comeback in thestyle world so you’ll look rebellious and avant-garde rather than your dad rediscovering.Round or flat caps are cool too. Especially if you’re intentionally leaning into the whole “middle-aged hipster” vibe.
Accessorise; hell why not? Sunglasses are a given, but I always bring the case as you never know how long “British summer” will stick around for. A lightweight scarf can be a nice touch too.
Not only will it keep you warm if the temperature dips in the evening (it will) but it doubles nicely as an impromptu sitting pad should all the chairs be dampened for some unknown reason. Don’t have a scarf? Wrap a bandana around your neck and lean into theier original intended purpose; Where does that even leave watches and jewellery?
Stay away from anything you genuinely care about. If it’s not waterproof or likely to get damaged by errant flying sausages; leave it at home. I’m a big fan of getting something functional yet reasonably stylish.
Seiko dive watches are great because you know they’ve been built to last and a NATOstrap means you won’t feel rinsed if you do accidentally get bacon grease all over your wrist. Hell, your watch is probably steak grease these days too.
And finally… a secret weapon.
When I was younger I used to assume that the weather would pretty much stay as it was when I arrived at any outdoor gathering. Idiotic chances, clearly. These days I always pack a small, lightweight waterproof jacket and pop it in my bag or car.
Not one of those piss water-proof these fit through’t matter they’re so thin ponchos, either. I got a pretty sweet lightweight technical jacket that’ll happily overlayer whatever you’re wearing. Mine’s from Barbour and packs down small enough to forget about until you need it.
If it’s a big occasion? You know, one of those with marquees and uncles you haven’t seen since you were whisked away at the last family BBQ trauma… I’ve been known to pack a change of socks. Just in a ziplock bag.
Kidding. Sort of.
