Will’s World: A Welsh farmer’s guide to surviving without rain

There are many things that we Welsh do well.

Flag design, spectacular scenery, emotionally roaring out a national anthem, agricultural shows, and some of the best food and drink products to be found anywhere in the world are a few that spring immediately to mind.

See also: How Limavady farmer built ultra-versatile drill on the cheap

Conversely, there are things we don’t do well.

Winning at rugby matches unfortunately goes without saying, and don’t get me started on our third-world transport systems.

But the thing that us pale-skinned Celts are appallingly bad at, above all else – I’m talking gold medal on the podium, world-class crapness here – is coping with hot weather.

We’re not built for it, see. It’s damp, rain and mist we thrive in, and over the course of countless millennia, we’ve evolved and adapted to every form of moisture there is.

Light summer showers – yes please. Torrential thunderstorms – bring it on. Steady all-day drizzle – love it. Sideways icy sleet – now you’re talking.

There’s that scene in the movie Forrest Gump, when the eponymous hero is describing the many different types of rain he and his fellow infantrymen experience during the monsoon season in Vietnam, and that could easily be Wales at any given time of year.

Honestly, it’s a wonder we don’t all have webbed hands and feet by now.

Hot and bothered

You can imagine, therefore, how I feel about this current run of hot, dry weather. It’s an utter disgrace, and I’m highly tempted to get the combine out of the shed, just to make it rain again and restore some semblance of normality and relief for the people of Cymru.

I will concede, though, that despite my sweaty discomfort and irritation, there is one good thing about hot weather. It’s something that gets any red-blooded dad worth his salt frothing at the mouth: barbecues.

What is it about fire and meat that inextricably bonds middle-aged blokes? I suppose it takes us back to the caves, and we can fantasise about being tribal hunter-gatherers once more.

I’m not sure that many men back then were prancing about in flip-flops and aprons as they grilled their woolly mammoth steaks, but I bet they all still gathered around to pointedly critique each other’s cooking techniques.

I have a good friend who’s so keen on barbecuing that he regularly polishes his Weber and keeps his associated grilling tools in pristine order.

He sends videos of himself cooking various cuts of meat to our group chat, where we all cheer him on and provide admiring commentary.

He even gets up extra early on Christmas morning to start grilling the turkey, rotisserie-style, and we receive enthusiastic updates on how it’s doing throughout the day. It has become a festive tradition that I look forward to every year.

Who says middle-aged men are dull, eh?

Grill skill

It was from this same friend that I learned about “the snake method”. (I don’t advise googling this without being specific about barbecues in your search terms.)

It involves placing charcoal briquettes in a snake-like formation around three-quarters of the grill, and then lighting one end.

This cooks and smokes a joint of meat slowly over several hours, and I resolved to give it a bash with a British White beef brisket that I’d bought from a farm shop.

Ten hours, one or two cold beers and several anxious temperature checks later, I had nothing short of a culinary masterpiece on my hands.

Family mightily impressed, red-blooded masculinity affirmed – and all while wearing a Wonder Woman apron with faux cleavage. Eat your heart out, cavemen.