Herald Opinion: We long for the sunshine, but complain when it arrives 

Oh, the typical Irish topic of conversation: the weather. And thankfully, last week we had plenty to talk about.

The sun was shining. Parts of Ireland were warmer than the Mediterranean. Records were broken. Queues for ice creams snaked down streets across the country, while umbrellas and raincoats were deliberately left hanging inside hall doors.

"I hope this isn't our summer," was the common refrain. It is a uniquely Irish sentiment. We spend months complaining about rain, wind and grey skies, only to become suspicious when good weather finally arrives.

And while most of us agreed that the spell of sunshine was welcome, it did not take long for the moaning to begin. Some were already critical of the soaring temperatures. "Paddy wasn't built for 30 degrees," one man told me, neatly summing up the feelings of many who found themselves longing for a cool breeze after only a few days of heat.

Perhaps that is the Irish way. We are rarely satisfied with the weather we have. Too wet, too dry, too cold, too hot — there is always something to complain about. Yet when the sun does make a rare and extended appearance, it lifts the mood, fills the streets and reminds us just how much weather influences daily life in this country.

Most people would probably agree that Ireland would be a near-perfect place if we could be guaranteed six weeks of sunshine every summer. To be really greedy, however, we would like those six weeks to arrive after the Leaving Certificate examinations rather than during them. There is a long-standing tradition of glorious weather appearing just before the exams begin or during the first week of them, only to disappear by the time students are free to enjoy it.

Anyone who sat the Leaving Cert will know the feeling. You are staring out the exam hall window at blue skies and sunshine while wondering if the weather will still be there when the final paper is handed up. More often than not, it isn't.

Climate change can feel abstract until it arrives in your own back garden. Last week was a small but telling example. The kind of prolonged heat that once felt borrowed from somewhere more southern is becoming a more familiar visitor. In Ireland, the shifts are subtle enough that it is tempting to dismiss them — a warmer February here, a drier April there — but they are accumulating. Farmers are noticing it in their soil. Insurers are noticing it in their flood claims. Ecologists are noticing it in the timing of blossom and birdsong.

It is worth remembering, too, that what feels like a pleasant novelty here carries a very different weight elsewhere. The same climatic forces driving our warmer summers are intensifying drought and food insecurity across large parts of Africa and South Asia. Ireland's experience of climate change, for now, is mild compared to that of many other countries. For hundreds of millions of people elsewhere, it is anything but.

Closer to home, last week was also a useful reminder that Irish bodies and Irish sunshine have a complicated relationship. We spend most of the year starved of adequate sunlight — enough that vitamin D deficiency is a genuine public health concern, affecting everything from bone health to immune function. And yet when the sun does finally assert itself, fair skin that has seen little of it for nine months can burn in under 20 minutes. Ireland has one of the higher rates of melanoma in Europe, which sounds improbable until you consider how unprepared most of us are, every single time, for a sunny day.

The advice has not changed: sunscreen from spring right up to Halloween, even when the sky is only half-heartedly blue. It is not glamorous guidance. But then neither is spending a long summer evening inside with sunburn.

Perhaps that is the greatest contradiction in Ireland's relationship with the weather. We need the sunshine, we long for the sunshine, and when it arrives we complain about it. Then we are reminded to protect ourselves from it.

So enjoy the sunshine when it comes. The Leaving Cert student will still gaze out the exam hall window, the umbrella will still hang by the hall door, but the climate that delivers both is changing in ways we are only beginning to understand.