T he sun has not had his hat on in July. Whether he'll get his act together and grab a sombrero for a humdinger of an August is not entirely clear. I'll check with Ugrib and see what's happening.

Ugrib is the US meteorology site where online weather forecasters take their information. Apparently they use a pile of pine cones and one of those little weatherman huts that tourists used to bring back from Switzerland. A little plastic lady comes out if it's going to be sunny and a little plastic man comes out if it's going to be raining. The little plastic lady must have been indoors knitting for the past month or so waiting for the weather to clear. The pullover she's knitting is probably for the little plastic man who's original paintwork must be faded to a shadow of its former glory.

The NHS and education, even travel and communications, have become political footballs but I never expected the weather to become one. The reason for this is all down to the credit crunch and the general financial fiasco of the last year or so. Everyone is doom and gloom.

The job market is depressed, the housing market is depressed and nobody is spending anything. On the other hand, there's no point saving either, because the returns are basically non-existent. It was only a matter of time before the weather became politicised.

Somebody attending a cabinet meeting at Downing Street suggested that the one thing that might cheer everybody up was the prospect of a really good summer. Seeing as we haven't experienced one for some years now (two weeks in 2006 don't count) it was a 60:40 bet that we were in for one this year. The climate-change boffins were pretty confident about it, too, and predicted that this green and pleasant land would become as sun scorched as Malaga in August. A water pipe ban would be imposed, the reservoirs would run dry and water bowsers were likely to be dispensing water from our street corners.

The weather forecasters seemed to go along with this. Either long-term weather forecasting is not all it's cracked up to be or the pundits who said we were going to have a dry time worked for the Ministry of Propaganda. OK, there's no such ministry listed with the powers that be at Westminster but let's face it, we swallowed it hook line and sinker when, in fact, we should have known better. Isn't spin the name of the game nowadays?

With the prospect of sultry weekends at Weston-super-Mare and Westward Ho! on the horizon, home holidays were booked and touring caravans were bought to take advantage of this less green and more sun-baked pleasant land.

We should have known better. We should have remembered those childhood holidays at Weymouth in long ago Julys and Augusts; one week of sunshine and one week of rain. Has it really changed that much?

Anyway, no matter whether it has or it hasn't, the weather was talked up big time to make us believe that things were definitely changing. What's the point in flying to the Costas if Clevedon and Clovelly are going to bask in the upper 20s (or 80s, if you're still with Fahrenheit)?

The weather gods have no respect whatsoever for pundits, whether political or not. The summer we were promised did not materialise. If some minor political spin doctor did suggest the press was nudged to talk things up a bit, he or she now has egg on their face. Yet another black mark to be agonised over when the election comes. If there's one thing an electorate are likely to hold against them above all else, it's if they've been tampering with the weather.

So those who holidayed here during July are probably swearing never to do so again. Hats off to those in the Med. You're probably the ones who own one of those little wooden houses with the sunny plastic lady and the grumpy plastic man.