Last week Britain was pretending to be the South of France.

This week, I am in Wales dressed like an extra from an Arctic expedition while clutching a lantern and obviously winning at backgammon.

The weather forecast casually informed us that “Arctic air” is now pushing across the UK bringing temperatures well below the mid-May average.

MID-MAY.

Apparently spring has been cancelled and we’re all expected to simply absorb this information without complaint.

So here we are in the campervan, wrapped in layers, while it is sub zero outside we are “having a lovely time” because this is what British people do.

And honestly? We are. There’s something oddly comforting about it all. The rain tapping against the canvas, the lantern light, the dog snoring inside the van, the complete absurdity of willingly holidaying in conditions that would normally make you cancel plans.

Gen X outdoor culture is essentially: “We paid for the gear, so we’re going.”

In fairness, there have been brief moments of strong sunshine where Wales looks so beautiful you immediately forget your frozen fingers and start discussing paddleboarding again with dangerous optimism.

Then the temperature drops three degrees in five minutes and everyone quietly retreats back into fleece.

Still. This is living.Slightly cold. Slightly damp. Mildly ridiculous. But living nonetheless.