My pal sends me a WhatsApp: “BBQ at ours Saturday, 2pm. Weather looks decent(ish).” Pay attention to that last word, folks – that clipped (ish) appended to decent tells you everything you need to know about how Brits approach summer socialising. It’s May.
We’ve had three good days of sun so far all year and look at the forecast – it’s got those dreaded little rain clouds sprinkled amongst the sun emojis. Basically: textbook British barbecue conditions. image source@im1979 For as long as I can remember, I’ve been had by the cruel stinginess of Mother Nature when it comes to UK socialising outdoors. Think about it: the second you leave the house to go and see friends in the park, at a barbecue, or for a beer in the garden of a beer garden, it always rains.
Or drizzles. Possibly showers.
I remember the Great Johnson Family Barbecue of 2018 vividly.
I wore linen shorts and a cam-collar shirt. Ten minutes after the first burgers were sizzling on the grill it bucketed down with rain. And not just any shower.
We’re talking flash-flood proportions as me and about seven other people took refuge under a gazebo that exploded into Darwin’s theory of evolution as our drinks were soaked by heavens above. All I could do was smile at our host Dave while our world fell apart around us. Wet egg-bean juice dribbled down my chin as Dave shouted “Don’t worry, it’ll blow over!” like a man possessed.
Except it didn’t. And while our gazebowhole collapsed around us, two distinct groups became clear: the bienchangés who thought to bring brollies, and stupid Matt who had forgotten his at home. image source@im1979 The issue with dressing for British barbecues isn’t just about bracing yourself for bad weather. It’s coping with three things at once: worst-case-scenario weather, British social anxieties, and geography.
Why? Because no British garden is blessed with the same temperature across its entire landmass. You’ll have patches near the BBQ that feel like the surface of the sun.
And then others, like the corner of every British garden that faces north, will seem like you’re suddenly marinating your pores in water because it’s raining and/or cold. So you’ve also got to wear something that can cope with the sun. And then waterproof enough for when it inevitably rains.
All whilst not looking like Victoria Wood dressed for a climb of Ben Nevis. image source To be honest, it took me a good 37 years to figure it out. But. Once I did.
Boy, did I do it. After many years of donning shorts just for it to chuck it down with rain and having to sprint home in embarrassment (still barefoot, because I’m from Scotland) I actually cracked it. If you’re reading this Matt Johnson, I apologise for your gazebo incident.
Onwards. For starters, think shoeagile. White trainers?
Barbecue disgrace. You know as soon as it rains your shoes are done for. But a serious pair of hiking boots will send out desperately unfortunate signals that you think it’s actually gonna rain.
What you want to do is cover yourself in “smart-casual-but-not-neccessarily-totally-stupid-if-it-rains” shoes. I’m talking Clarks desert boots in a darker leather that can get a little muddy, Timberlands, decent boat shoes that won’t be ruined by damp grass and cheap beer, or even some New Balances in darker colours that don’t reek of golf simulators. For Charlie’s barbecue last summer I opted for a nice, sturdy pair of brown suede Clarks that had seen enough British “summer” to know what they were letting themselves in for.
When the 15-minute downpour came, I wasn’t obliviously mooching around getting my brand new Clarks dirty while everyone else sensibly stayed inside. Next up? Legs.
Shorts are obviously appealing for barbecue-related activities, but risk leaving you looking like a idiot if it does rain. trousers? Barbecue overkill. Especially if it’s sunny.
What I always do is take a pair of cotton chinos in a mid-dip colour like olive or sand. They’re hard-wearing enough to sit on damp patio furniture, smart enough not to look out of place at a barbecue, but still chic enough that you don’t look stupid. If it’s going to be nice out I’ll usually opt for a slim-fit chino with a slight cuff I can unfold at the ankle if it gets cooler or I need to avoid soggy grass.
For the true British barbecues (August bank holiday, when everyone is at their most delusional) I may even wear shorts, but will always, without exception, take a lightweight pair of trousers in the car just in case. Trust me, I’ve made more dashes into garden sheds to change than I’d like to think. image source@im1979 Alright chief, so we’ve nailed feet and legs. But the magic is up top.
That’s where you can truly future-proof your British barbecue experience. Start with a tee. Nothing too thin, but not something that you’d wear to actually exercise in.
And most importantly, not white, because let’s be honest, as soon as you sit down near a BBQ your top will get sauce on it. You want to avoid drawing attention to that, so go darker. Navy, deep green, maybe even a rich burgundy.
Trust me. Same goes for short-sleeve shirts. Give them a bit of texture so wins at beer pong don’t permanently stain what’s left of your dignity.
From there, it’s time for a lightweight mid-layer. I’m talking about an overshirt, or chore jacket in a cotton twill. Big pockets for your phone when those “light showers” become a full-blown tempest, it’ll block out wind and shower, but won’t make you sweat bullets if the sun decides to grace us with its presence for five minutes.
The key islayers, and pockets. I picked up this Universal Works chore jacket in a navy cotton last year and it’s been a godsend for British barbecues. Four massive pockets for emergency dry-storage, enough weight to cut through a stiff breeze, and it doesn’t look like you threw it on in mild-panic when you see those rain clouds rolling in like a freight train.
Bonus points if you’ve got some minor staining from aforementioned BBQ sauce accidents. Like you were there fighting the British weather with us. But what about when those “possible showers” do arrive?
Well my friends, everything I’ve talked about so far is built around this final piece of barbecue armour; a waterproof that you actually don’t mind wearing. The hardest part about this whole ensemble is finding a rain jacket that doesn’t scream mountaineering expedition. That’s why I’ll usually go for something classic like a Barbour Bedale (go reliable & old-school goatteeasy on me, I know Barbour can be very polarising), or something quietly stylish like Norse Projects or Folk won’t make you look like you’re about to summit Ben Nevis but will actually keep you fucking dry. image source@im1979 Pro tip: never wear this on arrival.
That’s weakness. Keep it on your shoulder as you greet your hosts, folded up quickly in your tote bag or the back of the car. If the shower stays for more than a few minutes, you’ll be too ready.
Case in point: Ben and Sarah’s now-infamous BBQ they drunkenly-suggested we all attend in the middle of their garden during a mid-heatwave surprise thunderstorm in 2019. I fortunately had a lightweight Rains jacket in my tote, but watching Matt Johnson, Tom Hall and Sarah’s brother-in-law run inside to change into waterproofs was priceless. ESPECIALLY when Sarah’s brother-in-law emerged from the house wearing a soaked-through, now pink Oxford shirt.
He glared at me through rain-soaked vision as I calmly wiped down my jumper. “You fucking checked the weather didn’t you?” he screamed over the sound of rolling thunder. “Yep.” I replied, cool as ever.
“No – I mean, YOU actually looked at the forecast and saw rain?!” “Nah,” I said, stuffing my hands in my waterproof pockets as another dollop of water came hurtling from the sky.
“I’ve just lived in Britain my whole life.” A final, often overlooked but ESSENTIAL item, is a brimmed cotton cap. They instantly shield your face and eyes from any surprise shower, but won’t look out-of-place when the sun’s shining.
As someone who doesn’t wear hats much, I always break them out for a British barbecue with “possible showers.” Another underrated must? A waterproof watch. God help you if you’ve got a nice watch on and it starts raining.
You’re screwed. A simple Seiko diver will suffice, looks great with casual clothes but won’t be ruined by an unexpected downpour. Best of all though?
You won’t look over-prepared when you rock up to your friends doing barbecue glacé. Everyone else will most likely be wearing shorts and a tee, or at the very least struggle to understand why you’re donning a jacket in May. But trust me, when it rains(and it will rain) you’ll be laughing to yourself as everyone else runs inside, sodden and cursing their life choices.
